


Dushîn

by Wizards_Pupil



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Arkenstone - Freeform, Bilbo being dragged along for the ride, Cats, Children, Curses, Disguise, Dogs, Dragons, Elves, Enchantments, Erebor, Erebor searching for Thorin, Evil, Fell Beast, Hell Hawks, Khuzdul, Language Barrier, M/M, Magic, Nazgul Beast, Politics, Slash, Smaug never happened, Traveling, Trouble communicating, War, battles, chained together, dwarrows, wraiths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-01-21 03:50:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 48,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1536473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wizards_Pupil/pseuds/Wizards_Pupil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything Bilbo knows about curses says that being chained to a dwarf and dragged into an adventure because of it should not be enjoyable.<br/>It certainly shouldn’t be <i>fun</i>.</p><p>Though it’s probably because no one would describe fighting wraiths, dragons, darkness from the north, and shiny stones as fun.</p><p>Adventures are really just a lot more complicated than Bilbo had ever been aware of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yep. This is going to be wild and fun. I'm combining details from the Silmarillion, the Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, and probably a little of the Children of Hurin. Because I adore the world Tolkien created and I like making my life complicated.

Routine was something with which Bilbo was well acquainted.

Every day it was the same. He rose with the roosters and started the fire. He set a pot of water to boiling and let the dog out to the bathroom and let the cat back into the house. He fed the pigs and made sure that the chickens were secure. He let the dog back into the house and made a breakfast of something. He then went to the room next to his and woke up Frodo. He got the fauntling dressed, pulled whatever was for breakfast out of the oven, and gave it to Frodo with a cup of milk.

It was simple and well worn. Bilbo could do it with very little thought.

He was comfortable with it.

On Thursday, April 25th he woke up to the sound of his rooster crowing and he popped out of bed. He set the fire as normal and made a mental note to gather more firewood. He trod across the cold wood floor with Beorn, their newfoundland, trailing behind him. He absently patted the dog’s nose and tugged their front door open. He stretched before stepping out of the little hobbit hole.

Bilbo promptly stopped. He blinked two times and looked around again. It was still his hobbit hole. He stared back out at his front yard and blinked one more time. Beorn whined behind him but Bilbo remained perfectly still.

There was a giant wing in his front yard. A wing with nothing else attached. It covered a large portion of his front garden, and was black. It was covered in a strange, scaly sort of skin that gleamed in the morning sunlight. The actual wing was a thin, nearly translucent grey with five bones that spread out to form the body of the wing. There were six claws on it, one at the end of each bone, and at the joint where they all joined.

There was a dark, sticky, red liquid coating the grass by where it was laying. Blood?

It was a dragon wing. Bilbo had a bloody dragon wing laying in his front yard. Why? Was its owner still around?

Yavanna’s croissants! He needed to get Frodo! He took a stumbling step back and collided into Beorn, who promptly howled in an over dramatic reaction to a having his nose touched. Bilbo spun around, clamped his hand over as much of the dog’s mouth as he could, and watched in abject horror as Sebastian ran out the door in all his siamese glory. The cat ran straight for the wing and climbed atop of it as though he had done the job of de-winging the no-doubt irate (previously) winged creature.

Beorn snuffled his hand and let out a muffled bark. “Shh!” Bilbo hissed. His heart was pounding and cold terror was trickling through his limbs. Whatever had lost the limb was probably quite large, and possibly quite dangerous. He didn’t want it finding him, Frodo, Beorn, or Sebastian.

Sebastian who was now licking the wing. “Stop!” Bilbo called, trying to put as much command as he could in his voice while not being overly loud. Sebastian looked over his furry shoulder and flicked his tail before plopping down and stretching atop the wing. He turned his head away from Bilbo and steadfastly ignored him. Bilbo would have been furious if his skin wasn’t crawling and his heart wasn’t trying to beat its way out of his chest.

Bilbo took a step further into the house with Beorn. It was horribly quiet outside except for the faint whistle of the wind through the trees around his hobbit hole. There were no bird songs, no bugs buzzing, and no animals talking to each other. It was utterly still, as though everything had fled in light of whatever had lost the wing. It was making his entire body tingle with need to flee and save himself.

Wait.

Eru’s song.

Bilbo was worried about the wrong thing. He didn’t need to be worried about the wingless creature, he needed to be worried about whatever had cut the wing off the creature.

“Wow!”

A dark haired, short, mass ran out of the door and up to where Sebastian was cleaning his paws. The fauntling hopped up onto the wing and twirled around with his hands in the air and his face turned to the sun. Bilbo very suddenly found himself charging forward, all self-preservation forgotten in the light of Frodo getting hurt. His blood was thrumming and his breath was coming in startled gasps. Every bit of his body focused on getting to the hobbit as quickly as possible, and Beorn was right behind him.

“Frodo!” He squeaked out, scrambling up next to his cousin. He grabbed the fauntling’s arms and tugged him close.

“Da,” Frodo complained when his nose was squished against Bilbo’s chest. Bilbo simply pulled him up and closer so that the child was settled on his hip instead of the ground. Frodo’s legs went around him as did his arms. Bilbo took a timid step back and nearly fell.

It was still quiet. Beorn had his nose near the ground and was sniffing with a low, rumbling growl building in his throat. Bilbo climbed off the broken wing and stood next to the large dog. Frodo tried to speak again but Bilbo covered his mouth with a finger and gave his head a hard shake.

Beorn lifted his head and growled louder. A shiver rushed up Bilbo’s spine and he clutched Frodo all the closer while taking a step back. The newfoundland tilted his head to look at Bilbo and thrust his muzzle in the air towards the left before pointing it back at Bilbo.

It scared him. Beorn smelled something that didn’t belong. The bright April morning was feeling far more like winter than spring now.

Sebastian wound his way around Bilbo’s leg and he had to press his hand over his mouth to keep from making any noise. He picked the cat up and tucked him near. Beorn stared at him for a moment longer before picking his way around the bloody wing. Bilbo stood still for five seconds that felt like an eternity before following the dog. Beorn was the best protection he had.

Each step was incredibly difficult to take. Frodo was quiet on his hip, seeming to understand the importance of being silent. He had his small hand fisted in the front of Bilbo’s shirt and had his cheek pressed against his heart. Bilbo could feel his damp breaths through the cotton of his button up shirt and that tiny thing was extremely comforting and reassuring. Bilbo would protect the fauntling no matter what happened. Beorn would block them if he had to.

Sebastian would run for his own life. His claws were already digging into Bilbo’s arm.

Beorn kept his head low to the ground, a growl constantly rumbling deep in his chest. Each step was purposeful and he moved like a bear through the trees that lined Bilbo’s secluded hobbit hole.

He was following a trail of blood. Bilbo didn’t know what to hope for. The winged creature, or the creature that had cut it’s wing off. The blood’s owner was injured either way.

Beorn came to a sudden stop and his hackles raised. He snarled and snapped at the air before freezing completely. The air seemed to grow utterly still around them for an instant, then Beorn dropped to the ground and let Bilbo see what had frozen him. A bundle of fur and leather was curled in a small ball and blood coated the brown fur that was around the top half of the figure. Beorn whimpered. It was a horribly mournful, broken noise that was followed by the dog inching forward and noising at the pile of fur.

Bilbo swallowed thickly and searched for his courage. If Beorn wasn’t attacking whatever he had found, it couldn’t be that bad, right?  “What is it?” He pushed Beorn aside and peered down at the furry bundle. Frodo shuffled at his side and looked up with blue eyes that were extremely large.

“It’s a dwarf.”

“Oh Valar,” Alarm flooded Bilbo’s body and drove him to act. He set Frodo on the ground and dropped to his knees beside the furry bundle. He pushed away the coat’s sleeve to get at the dwarf’s wrist and pressed his fingers below the dwarf’s jaw. He found a pulse and the tight terror in his stomach loosened a slight bit. The pulse was faint and too fast to be healthy, but it was still there. The skin was also to cool to be healthy.

The dwarf stirred slightly as he touched him, and pale, solemn eyes peered up at him through a mess of black hair before they slipped shut again.

And then everything went a little odd.

The air around Bilbo went startlingly hot and seemed to burn his skin. The unconscious dwarf’s wrist felt like ice, and Bilbo felt his hand shake as something closed around his own wrist. A heavy weight settled on his hand, and it tightened to the point of being painful. A shadow covered his and the dwarf’s hand, and then he heard a strange clinking noise.

It happened in less than a second. Bilbo tried to jerk his hand out of the darkness, and pain, but he was caught fast. The clink noise sounded again, and Bilbo recognized what it sounded like.

The shadow melted into the air and Bilbo felt his mouth drop open in shock.

He was chained to the dwarf. A solid cuff that was a strange silvery color, was circled around his wrist, and it was connected by a chain to a similar cuff on the dwarf’s wrist. They were bound together.

What?

Panic flared in his gut, along with a cold fear that spread down his spine. It made his fingers tingle and his breath whoosh out in startled pants. He jerked his arm wildly, with no control over the reaction. The chain held fast and he accomplished nothing but making his wrist sting.

“Da? What happened?” Frodo stepped closer and reached out with extended fingers to touch the cuff. Bilbo jerked his hand away before the hobbit could.

“Frodo, take Sebastian and get back to the house right now. Wait for me and don’t you dare even think about leaving. I’ll be along in a moment.” He thrust the cat into Frodo’s surprised arms and motioned for Beorn to come nearer. Frodo ran for the house, listening to Bilbo for once.

The dog plopped down by Bilbo’s side and waited patiently.

Bilbo had no idea what to do. He was tied, magically, to a dwarf that was unconscious, who he didn’t know. There was also a chance that whatever had lost its wing was still flying around, waiting to strike. Bilbo jerked his hand and watched as the dwarf’s followed his. He tugged at the cuff, but it was solid. There was also no visible keyhole, latch, or opening of any kind. He would need tools to try anything. He had to get inside. He’d have to take the dwarf with him. There was only about a foot of chain separating them.

Thank Eru that he had Beorn.

Bilbo considered the unconscious dwarf for a moment before rolling him over. He weighed far more than Bilbo was expecting, and he barely made him move at all. He pushed again and was rewarded with the dwarf rolling on to his stomach. Beorn nosed at the dwarf’s back before trying to worm his head under the dwarf’s stomach. Bilbo heaved and pushed and groaned and thrust and finally he got the dwarf onto Beorn’s back.

The woods were still too quiet and unease was creeping back up Bilbo’s spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he felt indescribably like he was being watched.

Beorn pushed up and the dwarf remained on his back. Bilbo held him steady with a hand and jogged with Beorn back to the hobbit hole. He shut and locked the door behind himself, and, ignoring Frodo’s constant stream of questions, led Beorn to the back guest room. The dog dumped the dwarf onto the waiting bed before Bilbo could turn the blankets down and sat down expectantly. Bilbo patted him absently and stepped closer to the bed.

There was blood all over the dwarf, along with dirt and twigs. He (Bilbo thought it was a male but it was hard to tell with dwarrows) was covered in a fur coat and had several layers of what looked like armor. His black hair was scraggly, in need of a good wash and brush, and had fine streaks of grey.

He had no idea where to start. He had no idea who this was, and knew nothing about them other than the fact that they were injured and apparently enchanted.

“Frodo? Fetch me towels and a bucket of water, please. Do not leave the house.”

The fauntling hurried off and Bilbo pushed the dwarf back so he was laying properly. His skin was still too cool and his heart raced. He was taking shallow breaths and seemed to shiver. There was dry blood caked in his hair and at the top right of his head. He’d suffered a head injury then… There was also a lot of blood on his left side.

“My name is Bilbo Baggins. You fell outside my house. Don’t worry. I’m going to do my best to heal you and unchain us. You’re safe here.” Bilbo spoke as softly and soothingly as he could. His mother had always said that you couldn’t be certain that just because someone was unconscious they couldn’t hear you. If the dwarf was even slightly aware of what was happening around him, he didn’t want the dwarf to be scared.

Because Bilbo would be terrified in his shoes. He was frightened enough just taking care of the dwarf after whatever had happened outside. Not to mention the whole ‘we’ve been changed magically by something dark and it doesn’t look removable.’ Which he would think about later because he needed to focus right now and thinking of some giant, evil creature seeking revenge, or the shadow that had chained him to the dwarf, was not good for focus.

So. He would need a knife to get the armor and coat off so he could see what all needed doing. He would also need a pair of pliers and a hammer. Though, he very much doubted that he had anything that would be able to break the chain. He wasn’t even certain of what metal it was.

He hoped the dwarf knew how to unhook them.

The fur coat was pushed aside easily enough, but he couldn’t fully remove it with the chain in the way. He’d have to cut the clothes off to really see what was going on.

It was a really nice fur coat, and the weskit he had underneath was embroidered with what looked like gold. They weren’t clothes you cut. He could get the belt and boots off. The belt was tricky to unclasp, but Bilbo managed to pry it off after a few minutes. He pushed the weskit aside as well, and frowned at the armored shirt.

Something was going to have to be cut off. He had to get to the chest. He could see a dark spot around the metal armor, the dwarf had clearly been injured.

“Da,” Frodo staggered into the room, lugging the sloshing bucket of water along. Sebastian was carrying several towels in his mouth and had even allowed Frodo to drape a few on his back. Bilbo took the towels quickly and sent Frodo back out to fetch honey, aloe, and a knife. Beorn followed him out and Bilbo heard him take a stance by the front door. The dog would ensure that Frodo stayed inside and nothing else tried to get inside.

He hoped whatever the wing thing had been that it was far gone.

He tugged the dwarf’s boots off while he waited for Frodo to return again. The dwarf’s vambraces came off easily enough, as did the leather gloves things he had on. He was clearly some sort of warrior, and had been traveling for sometime. All of his items, while richly made, were well worn and dirty.

Frodo returned once again with the other supplies and promptly plopped to the floor with Sebastian in his lap while he patiently waited for Bilbo to work on the dwarf. He considered sending him away but he knew Frodo would likely not listen, and he wanted to make sure he didn’t try and leave the house.

Bilbo considered the dwarf again and mentally shrugged. If the dwarf complained about his armor, Bilbo would simply tell him that there hadn’t been another option. It was hardly Bilbo’s fault that the dwarf had chained himself to Bilbo right after going unconscious.

He used the knife to cut at the seam of the tunic that the armored plates were stitched to, and peeled the top half of the armored shirt up and off the unconscious dwarf.

Yavanna’s leaves.

The dwarf was littered with four things, hair, dirt, blood, and scars. They crisscrossed over his (defined like nothing Bilbo had ever seen) chest and arms. His chest hair was matted with blood, dirt, and sweat, most of which was originating from a spot on his lower left abdomen. There was a nasty contusion. It looked like he had been stabbed.

But more noticeably than the undoubtedly painful stab wound, was the tattoo over his heart. It was the same color as the chain that bound them and seemed to shimmer in the daylight. It was a circular design. What looked like a crescent moon with a skull beside it. Looking at it made something uncomfortable furl in Bilbo’s stomach.

Who on earth was this dwarf?


	2. Chapter 2

Fíli was trying very hard to remain calm. It was hard to do when his insides felt like they were trembling and the room was all of ten degrees. He half believed he could see his breath.

The glaring elf in front of him was the main source of his problem remaining calm. The blond firstborn was glaring with an icy stare that was probably aiding the chill in the throne room. His lips were pulled back in what was almost a snarl and he was standing to his full seven feet height.

Fíli was feeling very short, and very uncertain. He was not supposed to be in this sort of situation. Not for another fifty years at least. Longer if he could manage it. Right now he was supposed to be with his brother overseeing the guard change.

Not sitting on the throne in replace of the King.

“I’m sorry, Lord Curumo.” He said with a polite incline of his head. His voice betrayed none of his worries, thanks to countless hours of training by Thorin. He kept his hands still at his side with little effort, though it was hard not to fidget.

He could do this. It was simple. Just words and remaining still. “but King Thorin is…indisposed. Should you wish it I may arrange for a later meeting or I can carry a mess-”

“That will not suffice!” Curumo somehow stood even taller as he took a half step closer. The halls grew darker around him and his hair seemed to glow with starlight. His eyes turned paler and his lips peeled back in a full snarl. It was quite a terrifying effect that made Fíli grip to his control all the more tightly. “I have traveled far to speak with _King_ Thorin and I will not be delayed!” He spat the title out, making it sound more like a curse than anything. “I care not what he is doing!”

Fíli would normally have no trouble with an elf. Mirkwood, Rivendell, Lothlorien, the Grey Havens... he knew elves from each location and was comfortable discussing most anything with them.

He didn’t know anything about this elf, or his people. He was from the north, an area called Tol-in-Wethrin.  Which, according to Ori, roughly translated to ‘Isle of Shadow.’ Lovely. Fíli had never heard of the place. Curumo had come to speak with Thorin about something that he would not share. It was apparently vital that it happened right then as well. He was not listening to the fact that Thorin wasn’t available.

_Uncle, what would you do?_

Something to show that he was not about to let some ‘pointy ear’ talk down to him in his own kingdom. He’d be rude and loud while making it clear that the elf would need far more than height before he could look down on a dwarf. That was something Fíli could do. With a little more tact, of course.

He stood up slowly and determinedly from his smaller throne. It sat next to the very empty one that Fili’s uncle, Thorin, King Under the Mountain usually sat in. He was still higher up than Curumo, even if the elves added height made him at the same eye level.

“Make no mistake, Lord Curumo, the King has made it clear that he is not to be disturbed for anyone. You will either pick a new date to speak with him or you will leave him a message.” He waved his hand in a downward motion and watched with relief as Dwalin strode up towards the throne with two other guards. Curumo’s glare darkened even more.

“Very well then, young prince. I have waited twenty years to speak with Thorin Oakenshield. I can wait another week. I will see him at that time, or it will cost Erebor dearly.” The elf turned on his heel and stormed out with a flurry of the black and crimson lined robes he wore. The two guards followed him out while Dwalin walked up to Fíli.

“Please tell me you have news on Uncle.” Fíli barely waited for the door to shut before he was speaking. Dwalin’s rugged face was set in a grim line. Each footfall echoed loudly in the empty hall in a very condemning way.

“There is nothing new. We have heard nothing since the ravens of Ered Luin. Thorin should have passed Rivendell by now, even if he was delayed.”

“Could they have forgotten to send a message?” Dwalin shook his head with a sour expression. Fíli tried not to slouch noticeably. That was not what he wanted to hear. His Uncle was already two weeks delayed. If he hadn’t even reached Rivendell yet… It would be at least another three weeks before he arrived at Erebor. Where was he? It had been a month since the ravens had arrived saying that he had left Ered Luin.

“No. Glóin and his son are waiting for him there. They would not have failed to send a note.”

“Ibzigu.” (Damn it.) That was all Fíli could think of for a reply. Short, simple, and to the point. They were in trouble. Worse, Thorin might be in trouble.

“Has there been any sighting of his guard?”

“He left with only half his guard. Three members of the family Ur, and a fourth from Ered Luin.”

“Bifur, Bombur and Bofur? Do you know the fourth?”

“Only that he was highly recommended by Frerin.”

The door the to the throne room opened and Fili braced himself for more arguing. Thankfully five dwarrows filed in, all looking extremely serious. Balin was at the front, his white beard bouncing with every determined step and whoosh of his red robes. Dori was directly behind him with a wrapped bundle in his strong arms. His hair was coming loose from it’s complicated style which spoke of his rush more than anything else. Nori followed behind his brother, a frown on his face and soot on his cheek. Kíli was behind the spymaster and had a scowl on his normally happy face. Ori brought up the rear, a pile of scrolls in his arms. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes downcast.

More bad news then.

Was it too late to observe the guard change? Or find a practice he could join? Or perhaps just toss himself off the bridge?

“We have a problem.”

Fíli considered it a mark of maturity that he didn’t respond to Balin with a ‘ihubmu.’ (no shit) He went to Dwalin’s side who looked almost as unamused as he felt. Kíli didn’t stop until he was standing next to Fíli. His younger brother pressed his arm against Fíli’s and the silent show of support was more alarming than comforting.

Really very not good news then.

“Scouts have spotted a party of orcs on the other side of Rivendell.” Balin stared directly into his eyes as he spoke. The same respect he always showed to Thorin. It was surreal being in his Uncle’s position. He still had so much to learn before he was actually ready to be a king. He wasn’t supposed to be handling politics or trying to find missing dwarrows while apparently avoiding a war with a northern kingdom he hadn’t even been aware.

His Uncle could not be harmed. He wasn’t ready to let him go. He needed Thorin, he could _not_ lose him like this. To orcs of all things. Not without even getting the chance to say goodbye. Not like he had lost his father.

“And? Do you think Uncle will run into them?”

“Ran into them, actually.” Nori said with a glance at Dori. Terror gripped Fili’s chest as he watched the dwarf unwrap his bundle to reveal a familiar metal shield. One that had the crest of Durin etched into its center, with a rendering of the Arkenstone above it. It was Thorin’s shield. The shield of the King Under the Mountain. Oh Mahal. His Uncle had been attacked.

Thorin could be dead. “What news?” he managed. He didn’t recognize his own voice. Kíli pressed closer at his side.

“They did not find a body. They scoured the battlefield but found no dwarf bodies. They slew the remaining orcs and captured one, but they are not talking yet. We’ve no sign of Bifur, Bofur, or Bombur either.” Nori rushed. Ori shuffled the scrolls around in his arms, nearly dropping one. “Lord Elrond has promised to keep us informed while he searches.”

“That’s only half the problem.”

Fíli could hardly imagine anything worse. “What?”

“The King has to sign an alliance with the new king of Mirkwood. If he does not, the peace will die and we might have a war.”

“When?”

Balin glanced at Dwalin. “In five days.”

-[]-[]-[]-

Bilbo had sewn up the dwarf’s side, wrapped his broken ribs, cleaned up and bandaged his head injury as well as he could, and washed away most of the rest of the grime that covered the unconscious dwarf’s body.

It was as if the dwarf had been tossed into a tree or something. He was banged, bruised, and cut all over. He’d been in one more of a fight no matter what had happened.

Bilbo had also discovered that none of the chain or cuffs had _any_ seam. They were solid pieces, and Bilbo had nothing to break it with. It grew painfully hot everytime he messed with it as well. The cuff was barely loose enough to wiggle his pinky under, so he couldn’t hope to slip it off.

Once he’d bandaged the dwarf up as well as he could and figured out that he couldn’t get the cuff off currently, he let Frodo fix a very late lunch. He’d then instructed the hobbit to stay in the guest room while they waited for the dwarf to wake up.

It was after dinner when something finally happened. Frodo was sitting in the floor leaning against Beorn and trying not to sleep. Sebastian was curled up in a little ball in front of the fire and it almost felt normal. Except for the fact that Bilbo was stuck on the bed and reading a book beside an unconscious dwarf.

He turned a page of his adventure novel and tried to ignore the way his wrist was itching.

Until a moan pierced the air. Bilbo’s eyes shot to the dwarf to see his head thrashing weakly on the pillow. He dropped his book and nearly flew to the dwarf’s side with an uneasy stomach.

What did one do in this situation? What did you say to a dwarf you had found in your yard unconscious that you wound up magically chained to? What if the dwarf thought he’d done it?

“Men nâb?” The dwarf asked the ceiling with a slurred speech. He blinked heavily and moved his right, unchained hand against the bed. “Barur?” He blinked again and his head lolled to the side towards the fire. Bilbo had no idea what the harsh syllables meant. He’d never heard the language before. It was clearly not common, and was different from the quick tongue of men, and nothing like the lilting elvish syllables.

Because Bilbo needed more problems.

Still, Bilbo could recognize the fear in the tone. He knelt by the dwarf’s side and reached for his unchained hand. He grasped it carefully and leaned over the bed so the dwarf could see him. The pale eyes focused on him a little hazily. He smiled as well as he could. “Hello there, my name is Bilbo. You’re in my house. I found you in my garden.”

“Buzh?”  The dwarf blinked blearily and tilted his head to look at Bilbo. He looked hazy, like he wasn’t fully awake. Bilbo had no idea what to make of what he was trying to say. Frodo sat up properly but couldn’t move forward as Beorn grabbed the back of his shirt. Bilbo would have to give him a treat later for that.

He decided to keep talking. “You were hurt. I’ve mended you as well as I can.”

“Men bukhuba uburd?” The dwarf’s hand flitted towards his stomach before dropping. He winced violently and pressed his head back into the pillow. Bilbo took a cup of herb tea off the table and held it to the dwarf’s lips. He held the back of his head while he swallowed and then helped him lay back.

“Those were herbs to help with the pain. I’m sorry, can you actually understand me?” The dwarf stared at him with wide, mildly frightened eyes. Not that Bilbo could blame him.

“Sa.”

Was that a yes or a no? They couldn’t get anywhere if they couldn’t communicate. He decided to try something else. “If you can understand me repeat my name. Bilbo.”

“Beel-bow.” Close enough.  so the dwarf understood him. To a point at least.

“Right, Bilbo. What’s your name?”

“Thorin... Men nâb?”

“Your name is Thorin?” The dwarf nodded his head and frowned at Bilbo. He looked like he was starting to think Bilbo was a bit slow. It wasn’t his fault that Thorin apparently couldn’t speak common.

Which was very odd. Bilbo had never met a creature that could _understand_ a language and _not_ speak it.

“So you can understand me.” A nod. “Okay,” Bilbo said after a long, awkward moment of just staring. “Right then. I’ll just keep speaking, shall I? Respond as best you can.” He hovered his hand over Thorin’s face and held up three fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Gem.” The dwarf extended three of his own fingers without lifting his hand. So did ‘gem’ mean three in whatever language he was speaking?

“Do you feel dizzy or nauseous?” The dwarf nodded his head and pressed back into the pillow.

“Ambâr.”  His eyes slipped close for a long moment before the fluttered open again. It looked like he was having trouble staying awake.

I have a few question-” Thorin’s head lolled to the side and his eyes slipped shut. His hand released the blanket and Bilbo felt his mouth drop open in shock as the dwarf fell asleep.

He hadn’t even gotten to ask why they were chained together.

“Da?” Frodo giggled. He was clutching a handful of Beorn’s fur and he was giggling around the dog with a wide grin. He apparently was finding this hilarious. “Where are you sleeping?”

Yavanna give him strength.

-[]-[]-[]-

Thorin’s head was pounding and there was a strange lack of feeling in half his limbs. He was in an inordinate amount of pain, and whatever he was laying on was swaying.

There was also something wet dripping on his forehead.

He forced his eyes open and held them that way for a long moment before he could make sense of the dark mass in front of him. He was looking at fur, and… a tongue? Was that what was dri-

It had to be a bear.

Thorin jerked hard on instinct and had to clamp his mouth shut to fight a howl of pain. His entire body throbbed and panicked licked at his mind. He had no idea where he was or what was going on. He pushed back on the bed as well as he could-

And right into something solid and warm. He flipped over as well as he could, noting that his lungs screamed at the movement and his entire side exploded in pain. His arm was caught to something and the warm mass he was sleeping with scrambled to sit up.

“Oi!” The voice exclaimed, reaching for his shoulder and pushing him back in the bed. Thorin didn’t have the strength to resist and went down. The giant bear climbed on top of his legs and panted down at them with a wildly wagging tail.

He blinked and realized that he was not looking at a bear but at a dog. A dog that was possibly as tall as he was.

What? Where was he? What was happening? Why was there someone on his bed? Why was he chained up?

“Down Beorn!” The dog was pushed off the bed and onto the floor and he immediately went to the side to stick his extremely large head on the foot of the bed.

His bedmate turned to him with a sleepy frown. “So, you’re up again. Good. Are you feeling better this morning? I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer you other than oatmeal and more tea.” The figure had honey colored curls and smiled a toothy grin down at him. He had greenish eyes and seemed familiar somehow.

 _Bilbo_ …

The memories came slowly, like trying to recall a dream. He was in the house of whoever Bilbo was. He had collapsed in the man’s garden. At least, that’s what he had said. Though he had failed to mention that he had chained himself to Thorin.

Why? Why had he even been in the garden? He couldn’t remember that or why he was so injured. The last memory he had before waking here was setting up camp with his four guards. He remembered retiring for the night, and then there was nothing.

“What day is it?” His throat felt raw in the way that only happened when he was running a fever. He was in a terrible way.

“I’m sorry, what?”

What was wrong with this-actually, Thorin wasn’t sure what Bilbo was. He studied him again and tried to place his race. He was far too short to be a human, but he was beardless so not a dwarf. He had pointed ears like an elf, but Thorin had never seen a curly haired elf.

His eyes dropped lower and he felt his body relax in relief. Large feet. It was a hobbit, of course.

A hobbit who had a lot of trouble understanding common even though he spoke it. He was infuriating.

“What is the date? Is it still April?”

“April? Are you asking the date?” Thorin nodded his head, trying not to growl. He owed the hobbit his patience at the least. He had apparently found him and bandaged him.

Why had he needed to?

“It’s the 26th. Does ghiluz mean day?”

Ghiluz? How did the hobbit know khuzdul?

“How do you know khuzdul?”

Bilbo stilled and his green eyes widened in surprise. His mouth popped open and his eyebrows rose till they disappeared in his curls.

“Khuzdul… That’s what you’re speaking.” Bilbo shook his head a look of irritation flitted across his face as he set a tray with porridge, a cup, and several herbs aside. “Of course. You’re a dwarf. You should speak khuzdul. That should have been obvious. Still, I would think you would speak common if you understood it. That’s okay though, we’ll find a way to communicate.” He gave his hand a shake and the chain that was connecting them jingled. “We’re going to have to.” Panic gripped Thorin’s chest and spread through his mind.

He _was_ speaking common.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to say this last time Dushîn == Darkness (shade or evil)
> 
> Ered Luin == Blue Mountains beside the Shire.
> 
>  **Fili translations**  
>  Ibzigu == damn it. Roughly.  
> ihubmu == no shit (again, roughly.)
> 
>  **Thorin translations: ******  
> Men nâb == Where am I?  
>  Barur == A bed?  
> Buzh? == Garden?  
> Men bukhuba uburd? == My chest and head?  
> Men nâb == where am I?  
> Gem == Three.  
> Ambâr == tired.
> 
>    
>  _So_ much Khuzdul coming. I have no one to blame but myself. Still. I’m actually getting to the point where I can sort of hold a conversation with it. ;) Which is, of course, very useful. I need nerdy rl friends so that I can speak in a secret language  >>
> 
> I have no idea where this particular story idea came from. I blame it on lack of sleep and rereading the Histories of Middle Earth. Still, I'm quite excited about where it's going to go :)
> 
> Also, I got a raise which means more work, but still lots of writing time. I'll probably post 2-3 times a week now though :( Sorry! 
> 
> Feel free to ask any questions. About anything. Whether it's about this fic, a different fic, a future fic, my actual life, your life, the universe, or something else. :)


	3. Chapter 3

Thorin was accustomed to being in tense, frightening situations. He had fought for his life numerous times, faced orcs, trolls, and wargs, and fallen from tremendous heights. He was not easily scared, and he very rarely, if ever, succumbed to the feeling.

It was taking every breathing exercise he had ever been taught to keep from hyperventilating. He was Eru knew where, without recent memories, weapons, or the apparent ability to speak common. He was chained to a hobbit, and had several broken ribs and a throbbing pain in his lower abdomen.

He had to test his tongue. If he could focus around the pain he could surely think of a way to test his speech.  “I’m going to feed you and then we’re going to figure out why we’re chained. Do you like porridge? I don’t have anything else ready, but I can fix something up-”

“Porridge is fine.” Why they were chained? Surely the halfling knew why.

“Gamut? Is that a yes or no?”

Mahal… What was happening? “Porridge.” He nodded his head and reached for the bowl before realizing that it required more coordination than he currently possessed. He was helpless. As helpless as a babe. He had no idea where he was, where his dwarrows were, or why the hobbit couldn’t understand him.

He hoped he was dreaming.

“So Gamut is yes?” Bilbo passed him the bowl of porridge along with a spoon. Thorin tried to grip the spoon but his fingers wouldn’t quite corporate. It was hard to hold the spoon tight enough to get anything on it.

He absently shook his head ‘no’ while he tried to wrangle a bit of the breakfast onto his spoon. It occurred to him after his second pass that this was a good opportunity for a test. “Yes.”

“Sa?” Khuzdul. The hobbit answered with khuzdul. Thorin was speaking khuzdul. Why was he speaking khuzdul?

“Yes.” He nodded his head and Bilbo frowned.

“Sa is yes?”

Thorin nodded his head and squashed the panic. That was it then. He was speaking Khuzdul. Or Bilbo was hearing it. He would deal with why when he could think without feeling the urge to vomit. In the mean time he needed to figure out how to communicate to Bilbo. He had to learn where he was, why they were chained together, and where his companions were.

Maybe he was like Bifur now?

No. He had to focus.

“Let me help. Thoughtless of me, really. You’ve been through a great ordeal. I hardly expected you to be awake so quickly, let alone serve yourself.” Bilbo took the spoon from his hand and scooped up a spoonful of the breakfast. Thorin opened his mouth automatically before a surge of irritation rushed thru him. He was not some dwarfling that needed to be fed.

Except he couldn’t really lift his _chained_ hand to take the spoon back.

Right. Being fed it was. His pride was already battered. One more injury would hardly affect it.

The porridge was quite good. It was warm and had apples in it, along with spices Thorin had never tasted. If he was going to be fed he was grateful the food was at least good.

“Da! Da!” A short hobbit charged into the room with a screeching cat who was clawing at the air. He had a book in his other arm and had jam smeared on the right side of his face. The hobbitling took one look at Thorin and blanched. He dropped the cat who took the opportunity to bolt up onto the bed by Thorin’s side. He climbed up on Thorin’s lap and dug his claws in with a yowl that made the mammoth dog take two steps back and away from the bed.

“Frodo!” Bilbo turned and the porridge dripped off his spoon and onto the cat who responded by digging his claws further into Thorin’s leg. He didn’t wince but it was a near thing. “What are you doing? I thought you were going to feed Sebastian?”

Bilbo turned back to look at the cat and his eyes widened in shock. Thorin looked down at the cat and was suddenly reminded quite forcibly of his nephews. The cat was missing a large patch of fur on it’s lower back. Thorin had never seen such a glare on so small a creature.

“What happened?” Bilbo set the spoon back in the porridge and held his hand up when Frodo started to stammer out a reply. “Never mind. Leave Sebastian alone.”

Thorin’s gaze was locked on the book the hobbitling was holding. He was getting a ridiculous idea. But a ridiculous idea that should work. He motioned for Frodo to come nearer with what he hoped was an approachable smile. He could hardly feel his face around the bandages. The hobbit took a half a step towards him before glancing at Bilbo who was preoccupied with the furious cat. He took another step forward and Thorin reached for the book. It hurt an astounding amount to move, and he realized he had a broken rib on top of his other injuries.

What had happened to him? Was that the reason his guards were missing?

“The book?”

Thorin nodded his head and Frodo passed it to him. He took it with a slight grimace and brought it back to his lap. He put it on top of the bowl of porridge and flipped to the first page. It was a children’s story. Something about a riddle loving dragon, but it was perfect for what Thorin needed.

“Frodo, why did you-” Bilbo trailed off as Thorin found what he needed. He pressed his finger against the words, one after another until he had a sentence.

 _Where_. _Am_. _I_?

“Oh,” Bilbo breathed, his eyes widened and he dropped the spoon. “You’re in the South Downs. Near the village of Bree?”

He wasn’t far from Ered Luin then. It made very little sense. The last he remembered he had been on the outskirts of Rivendell.

But more importantly, he had just asked the hobbit a question, and gotten an answer. He could communicate.

“Perfect. We can talk now. Why are we chained?”

Panic once again churned in his gut. Thorin would not be able to ignore it for much longer. He looked back at the pages and flipped through the book until he found words that would work.

_It wasn’t you done?_

The grammar was appalling but it got the question across. Bilbo lifted his gaze to meet Thorin’s. A fear he’d been steadfastly ignoring flickered in the back of his mind. It tried to warn that he was not going to like the answers if he kept asking.

“I found you laying a few feet from my house. You were curled up and covered in blood. I grabbed your wrist to feel your pulse and we were suddenly chained together.”

Thorin kept his head down.”Zûr?” It was weird. He was speaking common in his head, but he could hear the khuzdul falling off his lips if he concentrated.

_How?_

“I don’t know. Our hands were covered by a… shadow? And then it just kind of… appeared? It felt like something was squeezing me.” The hobbit lifted his hand. “Do you know what it is? I can’t get through it.”

Thorin regarded his own cuff. It was perfect, no seams or hammer marks. It wasn’t a metal he was familiar with either. It was closest to mithril, but it was too shimmery. Almost transparent.

“It’s the same color as your tattoo.” Thorin’s head snapped up to find Bilbo staring at his chest.

“Gillabfillu?” His tattoos were black or blue. He had no silver ones. And certainly none on his chest. He flipped back to the first page of the book. _Where_?

Bilbo set his bowl aside and sat up on his knees. He leaned forward and pressed his index finger against Thorin’s chest. Right over his heart.

Thorin pushed at the weskit (where was his armor?) and looked down. There was a new design, the same color as their cuffs. It shimmered oddly, and it took Thorin several moments to make any sense of the design. It was a crescent moon with a skull. He’d never seen it before.

“I take it by that expression you don’t know what that is?” Thorin shook his head and clutched the book. He felt cold.

-[]-[]-[]-

Ori had a feeling that if he moved the slightest bit, his life would be in immediate danger. He wasn’t even certain how he had gotten in his current predicament, only that it was not one he ever wanted to be in again. Ever.

“And you have seen nothing of the dwarf?” The silver-haired elf was frighteningly tall with sharp robes that added to his height. He had scars along his cheeks that were shaped into unfamiliar runes. They weren’t Quenya or Sindarin. Whatever the language was, Ori was unfamiliar with it.

The elf had a long, vicious blade strapped to his side. It was in the style of the north. A blond elf had joined him but he was standing far enough away that Ori couldn’t see him.

He had been headed towards the Library to file away the latest minutes  from the council meeting when he heard them. He had recognized the lilting tongue of Quenya and ducked into the nearest niche. Thankfully there was a large statue of Durin I that was conveniently hiding him.

He had no idea who the elf was. He couldn’t see who he was talking to either, but he recognized the voice. He just wasn’t sure _why_  it was familiar.

“He has avoided our pursuits entirely. The fell-beast has disappeared as well. It seems unlikely that a dwarf could have escaped yet we dare not risk it.” The silver haired elf growled the words and glared at the walls as though he was furious at the city. Ori’s pulse was hammering and he was half-afraid that they would be able to hear it from the hall. The elves were walking towards him.

This was not a conversation eavesdroppers walked away from.

He pushed himself further back into the niche and tucked his knees as close to his chest as he could. He tried to make himself smaller and pushed back until he back flush against the wall. The elves drew closer. Ori couldn’t see them any longer, but the elvish words were clear.

“The Oak must be found. Without it our plans will come to nothing. The One will not allow that result. He will have his prize.” The silver haired elf’s voice was growing raspier, more of a hiss now than anything else.

“Then I suggest you do not fail, Draguluin.” Draguluin? Was that the elf’s name? Ori had never heard it before. He still couldn’t place the blond’s voice. 

“Guard yourself well. I will not return until the end of the first phase.”

“For Bauglir.”

A strange wispy noise echoed around the corridor before the lights completely flickered out. Darkness covered everything and Ori had to clamp a hand over his mouth to keep from making any sort of scared noise. He could feel the darkness. It pressed down all around him and made it _painful_ to even breathe. The footfalls of the retreating elves echoed off the walls with the volume of a hammer hitting an anvil.

The lights flashed back on and Ori tried to still his body. The beads in his braids were rattling from how hard he wa shaking. He hadn’t even noticed he’d started trembling. His chest was cold and his hands were like ice. each breath came in a hoarse pant, and his eyes were watering from pain and fear.

He had no idea what he’d heard, or what had happened, but he knew two things. Whatever it was was evil, and Oak had to mean Thorin.

The king was in trouble.

Ori pushed himself away from the wall slowly with limbs that hurt. He felt like he’d been buried in the snow. His skin was even pale. He stood still for a long moment, trying to will himself to warm up. His scarf and hand warmers were doing nothing against the chilly air. Every tiny breath was a puff of white that dissolved into the air.

He took a step forward and waited another impossibly long five seconds. Nothing happened. He was alone still. Another step, then another, and he was out of the niche.

The halls were empty in both directions. Still… there was something off. The lights were not quite as bright as they should have been, and the air was too heavy. Not to mention the lingering chill. All of it made Ori’s skin tingle and he found himself walking towards the king hall without making the conscious decision to move.

He had to find Fíli and Dwalin.

-[]-[]-[]-

So. Thorin had no idea why he was at Bilbo’s, why he couldn’t speak common, or why they were chained together.

All of which meant he was less helpful than Bilbo had hoped. The dwarf didn’t know how to unchain them either. He’d hit at the links with a hammer for over an hour before growling and bellowing in khuzdul. Bilbo hadn’t understood a word of it but he’d still had the urge to cover Frodo’s young ears.

Thorin got along beautifully with Frodo. He listened to the fauntling tell stories and let him sit on the bed and play with Sebastian. Every time Frodo was near Thorin, the dwarf would be smiling, but there would be a sadness, a sort of longing in his eyes. Bilbo couldn’t help but wonder if he had children of his own, or if he had had younger siblings. 

Bilbo knew the look well. It was one he often saw reflected in his own eyes. He understood the pain of absence. It had been a long time since he'd had any family but Frodo. He wouldn't wish the loneliness on anyone he knew. He couldn't imagine that being accompanied with the inability to communicate, or even the memories of  _why_ you couldn't communicate.  It would terrify him.

Aside from being of no help with _why_ they were bound, or _why_ he was with Bilbo, Thorin was surprisingly polite. Especially for a dwarf. He was clearly well bred and extremely smart. He learned quickly and allowed Bilbo to tend to his wounds without ever complaining about the pain of the ministrations.

The first few days with his dwarf housemate were awkward at best. Thorin wasn’t well enough to walk which meant that Bilbo couldn’t go anywhere. He had to have Frodo let the dog out and fix meals. Thankfully he’d made enough meat pies that they were good for a few days.

Thorin also _hated_ using the book to talk. He got frustrated quickly that Bilbo couldn’t understand him and usually took it out on the cuff around his wrist. Bilbo would need to make a salve for the red, worn skin whenever Thorin could walk again.

Sleeping was clearly uncomfortable for Thorin. Bilbo was used to sleeping with Frodo or Beorn and didn’t mind sharing his bed, but Thorin was apparently a loner. He would lie stiff as a board as far to the right of the bed as he could and remain that way until he finally gave into exhaustion. He also rolled around a lot which meant Bilbo woke up in the middle of the night to find that he had been dragged halfway over the bed and that his arm was trapped under Thorin.

Then came the matter of clothes. It seemed obvious in hindsight, but Bilbo had never actually thought about the whole ‘changing’ aspect. None of his items fit Thorin, so the dwarf had to remain in the same things he had been wearing. At least until he was well enough that they could make it outside to the river to wash his clothes.

Bilbo, however, had several clothes he could fit. He had to get exceptionally clever to change his shirt though, and it involved sacrificing several sleeves. Thorin was polite enough to turn his back any time Bilbo changed but it was still one of the most awkward moments of Bilbo’s life.

It was a battle to make him stay in bed. It was mostly due to the fact that Beorn was huge and Bilbo stubborn that Thorin was forced to stay in the bed. Bilbo refused to move and Beorn barred his way any time he tried to slip away. The dwarf hated just sitting about doing nothing though, so Bilbo spent the first day going over a brief history of his personal family. The second day he spent trying to teach Thorin the language of the Shire. The dwarf understood the words, but he couldn’t speak them. They always turned back into khuzdul. Even his writing was in khuzdul runes. Thankfully, Bilbo was slowly amassing a collection of khuzdul words. Gamat meant good, Sa was yes, osa was no, men was I, zu was you, menu was your, melekun was hobbit, and charach meant pain.

The third day had involved Thorin _finally_ explaining a little of who he was. Bilbo more or less took the reveal that he was chained to a _King_ rather well. He managed not to faint at least.

“Yeah, Beorn found you. I was worried you were going to be the thing with the missing wing.” Bilbo sipped at the afternoon tea absently. He was fiddling with the pages of a book on magic in the other hand. He’d remembered it an hour ago, but it didn’t have the information he wanted. It was a fluffy thing about garden enchantments. The darkest magic it contained was a method on banishing beetles. It didn’t even get near chaining. Though Bilbo doubted that any book he had obtained from the Shire would have anything on Bondage. That would be _far_ too scandalous.

They would all be struck speechless if they knew he was chained to a strange dwarf. He could just imagine the rumors.

He flipped another page and tried not to sigh. It had only been five days and he was already desperate for things to do. Thorin was glaring at the chain and muttering khuzdul at it before pausing suddenly. He tilted his head towards Bilbo and frowned.

“Binagriff gahyihy?" Thorin shook his head and grabbed Frodo’s book up. He pointed to the words with gritted teeth. Bilbo glanced down at the words he was pointing out.

 _No wing_?

“You didn’t know about that?” Bilbo set the tea and book aside. He was certain he’d mentioned that with the general history of Thorin’s appearance at his house. “That’s why we found you. I went to let the Beorn out and a giant wing was laying in my yard. It looked like it had been chopped off. I thought you did it.”

“Men band.” Thorin spoke as he pointed to the words. _Take me._

That was an atrocious idea. Thorin was weak and Bilbo was not going to be able to drag him back to the bed without further harming his ribs. He had a concussion that Bilbo didn’t know the extent of, a stab wound, several broken ribs, and a wrenched knee that would make walking painful for a while.  “Take you to it?” Thorin nodded his head and pushed himself to the edge of the bed. Bilbo scrambled off the bed as Thorin swung his legs to the floor.

“Wait! You shouldn’t be walking, your he-”

Thorin turned his head and glared at Bilbo. It was an icy look that made him take a small step back. He could picture Thorin turning the same look onto his troops. “Luchap.” He pushed himself up and took a slightly swaying step forward. Bilbo rushed to his side and placed a concerned hand on his back and arm to help steady Thorin. He whistled, a high pitched noise that made Thorin wince.

The dwarf glared again and Bilbo returned it this time.

“This is not advisable. I’m simply getting help. It’s not my fault you’re hurt _and_ stubborn.” Bilbo grumbled. Thorin gave him a look that conveyed just how much he did _not_ care if it was or wasn’t advisable.

He lurched forward and almost made it to the door without Bilbo’s assistance but he had clearly forgotten they were bound. Bilbo was jerked after him and very nearly fell. Beorn appeared at the door with a wagging tail just in time to catch Thorin who did stumble.

Bilbo straightened up and went to Thorin’s side. The dwarf was still glaring, though he had grabbed onto Beorn’s coat. “Hold on to him. He’ll help you not to put any additional stress on your body.” Bilbo went to the dwarf’s other side and looped Thorin’s arm over his shoulder so that he was taking a little of the weight. Thorin opened his mouth as if he wanted to retort before snapping it shut again. He shook his head and took a slow step forward.

They were apparently going outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thorin Translations:**  
>  _First Section_  
>  Gamut == Good  
> Sa == Yes  
> Zûr == How?  
> Gillabfillu == Tattoo
> 
>  _Second Section_  
>  Binagriff gahyihy = Wingless?  
> Men Band = Take Me  
> Luchap = Hurry


	4. Chapter 4

The trio made it outside slowly, with a little shuffling to fit through the doors. Still, it was _marvelous_ to be walking again, and it looked like a delightfully bright and warm day. The sun lit Bilbo’s skin and chased away the chill of staying in the back of the house. Thorin seemed to stand straighter, and he even tipped his head towards the sunlight.

Bilbo let his own eyes slip close in the bliss of being sun warm and surrounded by fresh air and growing things. “Dush gahyihy. Tanak Bilbo.” Thorin stepped forward and Bilbo was once again jerked along. He opened his eyes to see where he was being led and found himself drawing near to the wing.

Which was still in the center of his yard. It looked exactly as it had. Bilbo half imagined that there was still blood flowing from it’s cut.

There wasn’t a single bug around it. The flowers nearest it were wilted and shriveled, as if they’d lost their life and energy. The grass under and around it was brown and crumbled as well.

Bilbo, worry filling his senses, sent Beorn back into Frodo. He could aid Thorin with walking. He wanted Frodo safe above everything else.

“Turs. Uzn binganagu izahar.” Thorin declared, his eyes wide. He turned to Bilbo and repeated the phrase before rubbing his hands together. Bilbo didn’t know what he meant by that. He’d found out a lot more about cultural differences than he had thought possible. Even the basic gestures of their races were vastly different. It made body language hard to communicate with.

“Yes. It’s a bloody wing. Like I told you. You still don’t remember how it got here?”

Thorin snapped his fingers to regain Bilbo’s attention as if he were Beorn. He would have been insulted but that was just how Thorin was. He had little patience and got tremendously frustrated rapidly at his language barrier. “Bilbo! Zu balâturs!” Bilbo glanced at the wing and back at Thorin utterly confused. The dwarf huffed and shook his head. He rubbed his arms like he was cold and then rubbed them together before holding them up as if he was trying to heat them by a -

“Fire?”

“Sa!” Thorin nodded his head frantically. Bilbo’s shoulders dropped slightly in relief. ‘Sa’ was one word he knew. Yes. It was probably the one that Thorin used most often. The dwarf repeated his motions. “Balâturs.”

“Fire is balâturs?” Bilbo tried the word and almost managed to say it properly.

“Sa.” Thorin pointed at the wing emphatically. Bilbo hadn’t seen him so urgent since he had discovered he was chained. “Balâturs, Bilbo.”

Bilbo looked at the wing and felt a shiver race down his spine. There was something very much not right with it. “You want to burn it?”

“Sa.” Thorin gripped Beorn’s side and started towards the wood pile at the side of the house. “Dush ogamat zahar. Mâ nât ugahyihy.” He rambled on as he took a few pieces of wood. Beorn grabbed a log in his mouth as well. Bilbo grabbed the tender box and a lump of wood. They made their way to the wing and Thorin started to lay the wood around the limb while he still spoke. Bilbo tuned the nonsense out and focused on not shivering. It was colder than it should have been for the last day of April. What had happened to the delightful warmth he had felt when they stepped out of the house?

His hand was jerked roughly to the side by the chain. Thorin snapped his fingers and held his hand out for the tender box. Bilbo turned it over with a glare and rubbed at his sore wrist. What was wrong with Thorin? Why did they have to burn the wing? Why not just drag it away? “Zu khudu balâturs oshmâkh udush zahar. Dush athùhôr el dush.”

Thorin set a flame on the wood and stepped back. Bilbo followed and watched the yellow flame spread across the kindling. A strange hiss mingled with the crackling of the fire and the air seemed to grow even colder around them. Bilbo stepped closer to Thorin until his arm was pressing against the dwarf and shivered. Wind whistled around them and the fire grew larger as the hiss grew louder. An almost scream like noise pierced the air and Bilbo jumped.

“Khul.” Thorin said, his voice a deep rumble in the air. He pressed closer to Bilbo and looked down at him without worry. His hand brushed along Bilbo’s and the hobbit grabbed it without thinking. Fear was creeping down his spine and spreading through his limbs like ice. He didn’t know what the wing belonged to, or why they were burning it, but he knew with a certainty that he felt deep in his gut, that the wing was from something very evil. It was making something primal in him that Bilbo hadn’t even been aware of the existence of, rise up and urge him to flee.

“Khul, Bilbo. Zu u’ ikibel ubalâturs.”  Thorin’s voice seemed to break through the fog of fear that had surrounded Bilbo. He pressed closer and Thorin shook his hand free from Bilbo’s. He tugged Bilbo so that he was standing in front of him with Thorin’s arms wrapped around his chest. It took a moment for him to loop the chain around, but Bilbo felt much safer once he was wrapped up.

“Don’t let me aggravate your ribs.” He mumbled as the flame spread over the entire wing.

Thorin chuckled and Bilbo stilled. He’d never heard Thorin laugh. He could feel the dwarf’s chest rumbling against his back, and the noise was quiet and rough. “Men balakhur, Bilbo.”

_I am strong, Bilbo._

The fire spread and the wing burned as Bilbo watched. He felt a large, silly grin lift his lips at the realization that he had just understood what Thorin had said.

He was learning. He was actually learning khuzdul! He twisted his head  to smile up at Thorin and found that the dwarf was already looking at him. "You certainly are. Will you explain why we needed to burn this later?"

"Sa." Bilbo tried not shiver as another hiss filled the air. 

"I hope that whatever that was from doesn't come back." Thorin gave his head a little shake. 

"Khlgugû, Bilbo." He didn't know what that meant, but he had a feeling it wasn't good. He looked back at the fire and swallowed thickly.

“Whatever it was, I think it was the thing that stabbed you. That very nearly killed you.”

“This time,” a voice as dark and cold as a moonless night drifted from behind them, “we will make certain it’s not nearly.”

-[]-[]-[]-

Fíli had never seen Ori so pale. Dori had his arm around the nearly trembling dwarf, and the fact that Ori was doing nothing to removed the limb proved just how frightened he probably was.

“I have no knowledge of anyone by the name of Draguluin.” Balin leaned back in his chair at the empty council table and heaved a weary sigh. He was the only dwarf still sitting. “Or of this Bauglir.”

“If Oak was indeed Thorin, then I am afraid the King is in terrible danger.” Dwalin set his axe on the table and propped his hammer against the chair he had been setting in. He drew a whetstone from his pocket and tended to the blade of his axe with a not-subtle glare at Dori.

“That is hardly new news.”

“I am more concerned about the fell beast.” Balin interrupted. Fíli closed his eyes and rubbed his temple. He had a horrendous headache. The king of Mirkwood was due to arrive tomorrow, Curumu continued to remind him that he would wait no more than three days to speak with the king. Now they heard of elves from foreign lands who were apparently plotting something against Thorin.

And there was still no news of his uncle.

“Has Ered Luin sent any search parties?” Kíli asked. He was standing by the head chair. The seat that was reserved for Thorin. The king’s crown was set beside the chair in a mark of respect. Kíli’s fingers were trailing along the runes engraved on its side. Fíli suspected the dwarf wasn’t even aware of the movement of his hands.

“Wait!” Nori held up a hand and laid a parchment he had been pouring over since Ori spoke, on to the table. “I knew the fell beast was familiar. Look,” He pointed to a passage Fíli couldn’t see, “our scouts caught wind of one near the Shire.” He lifted his head and stared at Dwalin who set his stone aside and stood up to better see. “It’s near Ered Luin. It is possible the King was on his way to Rivende-”

“It is possible he was attacked there.” Dwalin growled out.  

“This is terrible timing.” Balin muttered. He rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands and sounded so weary that Fíli even felt tired for him. “The council is restless with the rumors spreading from the north. They’ve accused Thorin of not taking appropriate measures to defend the kingdom against an attack.”

“That’s preposterous! It’s hardly uncle’s fault that they’ve suddenly united under one banner. The tribes of the north have been leaderless and spread across the land for nearly five hundred years. They’ve never agreed on _anything_. We’re not even sure they are together. It’s all simple speculation.” Kíli gripped the edge of Thorin’s seat and glared at the documents Nori had spread out as if they were the reason for the insults.

“That hardly matters. Olag is still asking for a vote of no-confidence.” Balin started. Nori cut him off.

“He want’s Dain to assume the throne.” Dwalin’s head snapped to the spymaster and Fíli felt vaguely dizzy. He was nauseous as well.

Balin lowered an expectant gaze on him that Fíli had nothing to respond with. He had no idea how to handle any of this. He couldn’t just materialize his uncle out of thin air when they didn’t know his location or why he hadn’t reached Rivendell.

Ori opened his mouth to say something, Fíli had no idea what, when the doors to the chamber were opened with a bellow of trumpets. A page led a large groups of elves in to the center of the room expectantly.

“I bring to you the King of Mirkwood, My liege.” The raven haired dwarf declared in an almost squeaky voice. He stepped aside and stood at attention as a blond haired elf with what had to be the most _ridiculous_ crown Fíli had ever seen, stepped forward. It looked like he had taken a branch and twisted it around his head before pushing berries on every inch of it.  He was clothed in rich robes of red and green and stood at least seven feet tall. His eyes were pale as starlight, and his hair was blond. His eyes flitted around the room until they lighted on Kíli. The elf took a half step forward and bowed at the waist. The other elves with him followed suit before filing behind him in two even rows.

“King Under the Mountain I greet you. I am Thranduil, son of Oropher and King of Mirkwood.”

Everyone in the room went very quiet and very still. Fíli tried to make sense of what the elf was saying while Kíli’s mouth dropped open in surprise. He gave his head a tiny shake and started to raise his hand.

Nori shot forward before Kíli could get a word out. “Majesty,” He spluttered, bowing low. He stood back up and scrambled towards Thranduil with his hands clasped in front of him. He managed to stand meekly and kept his eyes down so that he wasn’t looking straight at Thranduil. It was a reverent act that Fíli didn’t understand the need for. Thranduil’s eyes drifted to the star-haired dwarf and one dark eyebrow raised in curiosity.

“Majesty,” Nori repeated, “we greet you and welcome you to Erebor. May the stars light your path! I am grieved to inform you that his highness,” and here Nori stepped back and to the left while bowing. He extended his arm to point at Kíli, “is suffering the last, lingering effects of the winter illness. He has been advised against speaking for a few more days hence.”

 _What_?

Thranduil inclined his head to Kíli. “My sympathies, your highness. I too have recently recovered from illness.” A smile made his lips twitch up. “It can be… unsettling.” He turned his gaze to Nori who was slowly straightening up. “And who are you, master dwarf?”

“I am Nori, son of Norín. A knight of Erebor and your most humble servant.”

Fíli had to give it to the spymaster. He almost believed it. He didn’t know what the ginger’s game was, but he was going to go along with it. Thranduil was clearly charmed by the servitude and there wasn’t time to tell the truth.

Not without raising an incident they couldn’t afford.

“Well met, Nori son of Norín.” The pale eyes lighted back on Kíli who was standing as tall as he could with his shoulder pushed back. He looked stiff and uncomfortable. His hand was resting on the arm of the chair by the crown. “I will see you tonight at the festivities, Sire.” The dwarf page bowed and joined Thranduil as he left the room with the other elves by his side.

“What just happened?” Kíli asked in an airy voice of disbelief. Balin was at his other side with a pronounced frown that made him look far older.

“We,” Ori said with unneeded emphasis, “are in so much trouble now.” Dori turned on Nori with a furious scowl. 

"What were you thinking? Thranduil now believes Kili to be king! He will be furious when Thorin arrives and he learns we-no,  _you-_ lied!"

“There wasn’t a choice!” Nori snapped. He turned to face Fíli with a scowl. “Thranduil commands an army of nearly five thousand elves. We cannot afford him as an enemy. He threatened to cut off an entire town of men because the leader would not personally greet him. He is an extremely proud man!” He twisted his torso towards Kíli who was still opening and closing his mouth in speechless shock. “Thorin was last spotted at the Shire. He will take a month to return to Erebor if that is true. And that’s only if he is already on his way. We cannot afford to be without the king for such a long period of time. The council is already restless and there have been sightings of an army approaching from the north. We cannot afford war. If anyone learns that we have no king, they'll strike us while we're 'weak.'”

“What?” Balin fisted his hand in irritation. Fíli couldn’t think of any response. It was happening too quickly. There were five different political plots all happening together. They needed Thorin back.

They had an army of elves in Mirkwood and a king that was apparently easily offended visiting from that realm. They had an army amassing from the newly united north full of elves and people they knew nothing about. They had Olag calling for Thorin’s throne. They had their king missing, and now they had Kíli pretending to be Thorin so that they wouldn’t start to wars by correcting Thranduil and putting Curumo off any longer. He needed his uncle back.

Fíli refused to even contemplate the idea that Thorin might not be alive.

“Whatever Curumo was talking about, he wasn’t bluffing about Erebor being in danger.”

“Why didn’t our scouts warn us of this?” Nori barely glanced at Dwalin before looking at Fíli.

“We don’t know. I only just received the reports of the sighting. We’ve sent spies to find our scouts.” He moved closer to Fíli and his hands fluttered urgently at his side. Fíli felt bizarrely cold and absent. Everything happening around him felt oddly distant. Like it was happening somewhere else, in a story that had no real impact on his life. He didn’t feel emotionally connected to any of it.

Nori’s plan was crazy and not very well thought out. It was already enacted though, and they could hardly take it back. Thranduil thought Kíli was the king. Curumo had yet to meet Thorin, and had never seen Kíli. They could probably trick him into believing that he was the king… They would need to make the young prince look older but it could work... He looked enough like Thorin that they could conceivably pull them off as being the same person... Hopefully.

Fíli nodded his head. There wasn’t really anything else he could do, Nori had already inacted the plan. There would be chaos if the truth was now revealed. He turned back to his younger brother and tried to smile, it was more painful than anything. “So,” he clapped his hands and took a step forward, “are you ready to play king?”

“Oh Mahal.”

“We don’t have time for this.” Dwalin hefted his axe off the floor and flung it on his back. He latched it on and leveled his gaze onto Fíli. “I am going to find Thorin. If he truly has been spotted near the Shire, that is where I will look. A small party will make it quicker and be less noticeable.”

“I-” Dwalin cut Fíli off before he could continue.

“Stay and make certain that no one learns the truth. The council has been disbanded until the summer solstice. Still, make certain to distract them by any means necessary, especially Olag. We cannot have him trying to put Dain on the throne.” He glared at Kíli. “Do not be yourself. If you are to impersonate Thorin, then do it well. Avoid actually calling yourself the king, or using his name if at all possible. Stay out of view if you can. Nori will see to it that you look older.” He turned to Ori last, who was trying not to fidget. He had the notebook in a death grip against his chest. “You are coming with me. You can get everything in order for Mirkwood’s treaty when we find the king. You are also the only one who knows what Draugluin looks like and can speak both Sindarin and Quenya fluently.” He sighed and took up his war hammer. “We’re going to need this done as quickly as possible.”

A clank echoed around the throne room and made Ori jump. Fíli twisted his head to see what was going on and saw Kíli with the crown knocked off its pedestal and a sheepish grin. “Oops.”

This was never going to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thorin Translations**  
>  Dush gahyihy. Tanak Bilbo. == A shadow’s wing. Come along, Bilbo  
> Turs. Uzn binganagu izahar. == Burn it. Such evil cannot stay near the house.  
> Bilbo! Zu balâturs! == you need to burn it.  
> “Dush ogamat zahar. Mâ nât ugahyihy.” == It can’t be near the house. We will get rid of it.  
> “Zu khudu balâturs oshmâkh udush zahar. Dush athùhôr el dush.” == We burn this now to protect the house from evil. It calls all evil.  
> “Khul.” == Peace.  
> “Khul, Bilbo. Zu u’ ikibel ubalâturs.” == Peace, Bilbo. You will not be hurt by the fire.  
> "Khlgugû, Bilbo." == It will, Bilbo.
> 
>  
> 
> Let me know if there are any questions!


	5. Chapter 5

“This time,” a voice as dark and cold as a moonless night drifted from behind them, “we will make certain it’s not nearly.”

Bilbo spun around to face the whispy voice and felt his blood freeze in his veins. There were five creatures in front of him, and he wasn’t certain what they were. They were all of varying shapes, heights, and colors. One was almost blue, shorter than Thorin, and wide, with long, stumpy arms that clutched a club. Two others were a greener hue, thin as reeds, and taller than the dwarf. The fourth was grey with tumors all over his face and arms. He was shorter than Thorin and had a nasty, rusted blade. The last was pale with black eyes and blood red runes engraved into his skin. He had a cleaver and a wild look.

“Rukhs.” Thorin growled out before pushing Bilbo aside. He stood in front of the startled halfling and assumed a wide stance with his right, unchained arm extended in front of him. He kept his left hand behind his back so that the creatures wouldn’t see they were chained. He looked like he was about to wrestle.

Bilbo couldn’t even make his lungs expand with air. He had no idea how Thorin managed to move so well.

“Khuzd abod amuriz!” Thorin spat out in a tone more full of hate and rage than Bilbo had ever heard him use, “Khuzd ai-mênu!”

The large blue creature tossed his head back and _laughed_. It was a dark sound, hoarse and rusty. It sounded painful to make and left Bilbo feeling as if he had just been dunked in a frozen lake. The creature stepped nearer and twisted the club in his hand with thick fingers. “So, dwarf, the curse has taken effect then.” He tilted his head and his thin lips spread in a smile that showed pointed, grimy teeth. He had scars all over his face, and they stretched to his lips in angry red marks that made him look as though he were bleeding. It made Bilbo’s heart hammer and his hands tremble. “At least something worked properly. Still, it will be fun to finish what the beast could not.”

“Zu khelech, rukhs.” Thorin growled out, and then he moved. He swept down and to the right and reached towards the now blazing wing. He took up a flaming piece of wood and, in a fluid move, switched directions. He twisted to the left and brought the fire down on the blue thing’s arm. It let out a howl of pain and jerked away, but he was too slow. Thorin, with a snarl that sounded more animalistic than dwarven, swung back at him. The monster’s clothes lit with flame and he screeched all the louder. Thorin rid him of his weapon and hit him up side the head with the blunt end of his wood. The monster crumpled to the ground with a sickening crack.

“Da?”

The word was quiet, barely spoken aloud and hardly discernable past the sound of the monster falling to the ground. It drew Bilbo’s attention like an explosion. Frodo was standing in the entrance to the hobbit hole. His hand gripped the door tightly and he was peering around it with wide, frightened eyes.

Bilbo moved forward, not noticing the other monsters or the axe that was swinging in his direction. He only had one thought. One desperate and panicked thought that drove everything else away.

Frodo.

He had to protect him. He could not let the fauntling be in any danger.

-[]-[]-[]-

Thorin found himself being very suddenly jerked to the side as Bilbo shot towards the house with a high pitched screech of ‘Frodo!’ He lost his footing and slipped, falling into the dirt and losing the flaming torch. He maintained his hold on the club that the blue orc had wielded and brought it up to protect his chest while he tried to rise again.

Bilbo’s arm caught and he fell down, unable to drag Thorin along.

He should have known this would happen. He should have expected it in the very least. He should have worked harder to free himself. Whatever had caused him to fall in Bilbo’s garden would surely not have left him alone.

He had brought all of this on the hobbit who had only ever tried to help him.

A laugh broke the air and the evil in it made Thorin’s skin crawl. His eyes shot to Frodo who had taken a step out of the hole. “A child!” the pale orc crowed. He spun on his heel, just out of Thorin’s reach, and smiled. His face was slit from his chin to his left eye and it made a jagged mark all across his lips. They spread in a painful fashion at the motion and made him look all the more demented.

Thorin hauled himself up and tried to ignore the wetness spreading across his chest. “Yaguul,” the pale orc growled, his voice  a dark rumble in the sunlit garden, “Thrakat snaga u ta.” The grey, tumor covered orc nodded in agreement at whatever the Orc had said and started towards the house.

Bilbo flung himself forward again, but this time Thorin was ready for the movement. He braced himself and managed not to be jerked again. Bilbo flailed wildly but couldn’t budge Thorin. The pale orc turned back to him while the two green ones stepped closer on either side.

“Khul!” He bellowed at Bilbo. He gave his arm a hard jerk and Bilbo stumbled back with a shout. Thorin adjusted the club in his arms and took a breath. He sent a prayer to Mahal as he drew his arm back, and he let out the loudest whistle he could.

He brought the club around with all the force he could muster and twisted into the swing. He brought his weight forward with the club and brought it down on the orc’s side. The creature brought his blade around to perry and let out a grunt of pain as Thorin pushed him back with the force of his strike. He focused on bringing the club right back around and aimed out with a kick while the two other orcs closed in. Bilbo grabbed the torch up and swung at the nearest one with a shout of outrage.

A bark echoed through the air followed by a scream of fright. The ground shook under the pounding of feet and another bark sounded. Thorin sucked in a breath and thrust the club forward, knocking the surprised orc in the chest. The pale orc stumbled back a step and Thorin knocked him down. he brought the club down as hard as he could and glanced up to see Beorn pouncing onto the grey orc.

The enormous dog held the orc down with his large claws and brought his mouth to the orcs throat. Another scream filled the air.

Bilbo hit one of the green orcs in the side and caught his clothing on fire. He aimed for the head while Thorin dropped to the ground and scrambled for the pale orc’s sword. He wanted something sharp. Bilbo missed and the orc advanced on him as Thorin tugged the blade free from the fallen orc’s hold.

Thorin gripped the sword and brought it up as he pushed up on knee. The tip went through the orc’s chest and he stilled. A gurgle of blood fell from his mouth and the foul creature trembled violently before falling to the side.

Four down, one left.

“Frodo!” Bilbo wrapped the tiny hobbit up as well as he could, and dropped to the ground. He was protecting him with his very body. Which, while noble, was not a great idea.

Beorn growled and snapped at the grey orc’s throat. A wet gurgling noise fell from the fallen orc and he gave one final, violent, twitch. The last green orc took a step back as Beorn looked up. Thorin pushed himself to standing with what strength he had left and held the rusted sword at the ready. The orc took another step back as his gaze traveled from the sword, up Thorin’s arm until he met the dwarf’s eyes.

Beorn growled menacingly.

The orc ran away. Thorin could not give chase even if he wasn’t tied to Bilbo. He had no strength for it.

Beorn, however, did. The newfoundland leap up and charged after him with a snarl that would have made even Thorin pause.

“It’s too late.” The green orc mumbled around a mouthful of blood. He laughed weakly and coughed violently. “Too late.”

Thorin brought the tip of the sword to the creatures throat and tried not to sway. His vision was blurring a little around the edges. His side felt as though it was on fire and the smell of blood and smoke was thick in the air. “Aglâb!” (speak)

The orcs eyes were solid black. “They know where you are, Thorin Oakenshield. They come for you even now. In numbers you cannot imagine. You will never set foot in Erebor again.” He hacked and his entire body shook with it. The tip of Thorin’s blade pressed into his throat and the orc made no reaction. “Bûrz gimbhai.” (darkness comes.) His hand slipped open to reveal something shiny. The orc coughed again and then stilled.

A howl rose from the forest and Bilbo shook. Thorin paid it little heed.

He knelt by the deceased orc and reached for the metallic object. He tugged it free of the orc’s grasp and stood back up slowly. It was a necklace with a large amulet. A familiar, decorative piece of metal.

The metal of the amulet was cool in his hand. The paint was chipped and the edge had been dented badly. He could still make out the crest that had decorated the metal. A raven circled with blue. It had been a gift to Bifur for serving him in battle.

Thorin grasped it in his fist and looked down at the dead orc. His heart was pounding in his chest and every breath hurt. The ache in his side was intense, but it was not enough, not nearly enough, to distract him.

He was remembering. He had been on the outskirts of Rivendell when the orcs had come in the night. Frain had been on watch when they attacked. He’d been taken down by arrows.

It was all he could remember. The smell of blood, the darkness, and the sound of a shriek high in the air. The fire had burned down and the scent of smoke had filled the air. The chill of night surrounded them, and there had been no time to prepare.

It was a moment of time, a mere glimpse of whatever had happened that night. He could see it clearly in his mind, he half imagined he could smell the same blood and still feel the cold dirt caked under his fingernails. It was all he could remember.

The rest was almost there, like a word that you knew but could not quite recall. It was just beyond his reach, just beyond his recollection. It was important, so terribly important, but he could not recall what had occurred next.

He wasn’t even certain _why_ he had remembered the moment before the attack.

“Bilbo,” his voice was ragged, but there wasn’t time. He couldn’t focus on remembering or even on burning the foul bodies.

He wasn’t certain there was even time to bind his chest.

“Bilbo,” The hobbit finally looked up, his green eyes wide and frantic with worry. Frodo was still wrapped up in his arms and the fauntling was making Bilbo shake with how hard he was trembling. “Mâ osa linger.” 

“They-who knows where you are?” Bilbo pulled Frodo closer and pressed the tiny hobbit’s head to his chest. “Are they coming here?”

Thorin glanced at the forest. Leaves rustled ominously. They had already taken too long. If this was only a scouting party… There could be a far larger pack already on the way. “Sa.” He dropped his gaze to Bilbo and swallowed thickly. Guilt, thick and terrible, consumed him. This was his fault. He had brought this horrible ruin on the simple hobbit. He should never have seen an orc, let alone had several dead in his yard with the promise of more to come. He and his son should have lived free of such worries. “Izd’u come.” 

He had not known the hobbit long, but someone so kind should not face such terrible things.

And he couldn’t even remember _why_ he had brought it on him, or _what_ exactly ‘it’ was. Why here?

“They’re coming? Then we have to be quick. Do you think you can travel?” Bilbo stood up with Frodo still clutched to his chest. The hobbit wrapped his legs around Bilbo’s waist and held on.

Thorin blinked in confusion. “Mâ what?”

Bilbo took a step towards the house and jerked whole bodily as he stilled. He turned towards Thorin slowly with wide eyes.

The dwarf wasn’t sure why.

“That was common. You just spoke three different common words.”

What?

“Men did?” Another howl permeated the air and Bilbo glared at the forest.

“Fine. We’ll figure out why later. Walk with me. I’m guessing we’ll need to move quickly.” Then the hobbit turned, still carrying Frodo, and started to march towards the house. Thorin stumbled after him.

-[]-[]-[]-

Blankets, clothes, rope, food, knives, a tinder box, the childrens book, money, cloaks, and water skins. Bilbo checked over all the supplies again and frowned. He hoped it was enough. Thorin wasn’t saying much of anything other than single khuzdul words and frowning.

Bilbo still needed to tend to the dwarf’s side. He could see it staining Thorin’s weskit red from the ripped stitches.

He’d never seen anyone fight before. Thorin had taken down three orcs by himself, and he’d started unarmed. He’d even thought to call for Beorn.

The dwarf had kept them all safe. He’d done it at the risk of himself. He had shoved Bilbo back and tried to distract all of the orcs from noticing Frodo’s approach. And he’d been bleeding the entire time. He was a warrior. There was no mistaking him for anything less.

Bilbo’s left hand shook as he added a container of jam to the supplies. He didn’t bother trying to still it. He was having trouble keeping his thoughts together. They kept flitting around, impossible to catch or corral. He was slightly worried it was a form of shock.

They had just been attacked by orcs. More were on the way. They were in danger here. Thorin was being hunted, and he wouldn’t even be able to remember why. Was it simply because he was royal? Were the ones hunting him responsible for the curse?

Beorn barked outside the hole. He was probably urging them to hurry. Sebastian was standing guard with him.

“Will we need bandages?” Frodo, still trembling a slight bit, came up to the table where the supplies were spread out with several rolls of white bandages and thread.

“Very good, my lad. Add that to the pile then take a seat by Thorin. We’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

Where were they going to go? What was he doing? He was a hobbit! He couldn’t just go willy nilly off into the wild. It wasn’t proper!

By Yavanna, what was he even thinking? He couldn’t very well stay! There were other orcs coming. Willing or not, he had to leave. He was bound to Thorin’s fate. Literally.

Bilbo risked a glance at the dwarf who was grabbing a roll of the bandages in his chained, left hand. He grabbed Frodo’s chair with his right hand and twisted it around so that the hobbit was facing away from him. Thorin then pointed at the door that Frodo was facing and tapped something on the child book. Frodo nodded his head and looked at the door intently. Thorin waited a moment to make sure Bilbo wouldn’t turn around and lifted his weskit up. Bilbo nearly gasped at the sight of his chest. The wound had torn back open and blood was everywhere.

Thorin didn’t even flinch. He wiped a bit of the blood away with the corner of the bandage before he started to wind it around himself. He did it slowly and methodically, his eyes darting over to Frodo every few seconds to make sure the fauntling didn’t see the grisly wound.

“Frodo,” he started once he tied the bandage off, “zu gamut guard.” His jaw clenched at the common and his eyes drifted to meet Bilbo’s.

The intensity in them stole the hobbit’s breath. He’d know that Thorin was a king, but he could see it now. His pale eyes were certain and knowledgeable, almost sorrowful in their awareness. It felt as though he were trying to apologize for what had occurred.

Which was ludicrous. It was hardly Thorin’s fault that orcs were hunting him. He was royalty, and orcs were vile.

The dwarf had fought to protect them.

“Irmish?” Ready?” Thorin asked as he re-tied his weskit. Bilbo nodded his head as he looked over the supplies. He’d put them in three packs. He passed Frodo’s his leather pack and helped the fauntling strap it on while Thorin tugged his own on.

“Are we-will there be more?” Frodo asked quietly, his lip trembling.

Bilbo grabbed Frodo’s hands and knelt down in front of him so that he was all the fauntling could see. His blue eyes were large and watery, and his face was scrunched up in fear and he was putting up a valiant effort not to cry. It tore at Bilbo’s heart with jagged hooks. All he wanted was to wrap Frodo up close and run away. To the Shire, to Rivendell, to Bree, anywhere that wasn’t here. Anywhere that Frodo wouldn’t have to see another dead orc for the rest of his life.

Where he would never be charged at by a live one.

“That’s why we’re leaving, Frodo. So we won’t have to worry about running into anymore orcs. Thorin is going to take us to see his people. They’ll unchain us.” He glanced at Thorin and relaxed at the nod he received.

“Sa.”

“We’re going to see Erebor?” Frodo twisted his head and looked over his shoulder at Thorin. The king nodded his head and smiled easily.

“Sa.”

“A real castle?” Frodo turned back to Bilbo and beamed, all fear of Orcs forgotten. Bilbo nodded his head and swallowed thickly. His eyes stung with unshed tears.

“Yeah, a real castle.” He met Thorin’s gaze again and the dwarf stood up slowly and stiffly.

“Udâr, men friends.” Bilbo stood up as well and pulled his pack on. He took Frodo’s hand and let out a deep breath.

It was time to leave.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thorin Translations**  
>  Rukhs== Orcs  
> Khuzd abod amuriz = dwarf strikes the earth! (a dwarvish battle cry)  
> Khuzd ai-menu! == Axe of the dwarf upon you. (another dwarvish battle cry)  
> Zu khelech, rukh == You can try, orc.  
> khul! == Peace!  
> Aglâb! == speak!  
> Mâ osa linger. == We cannot linger.  
> Izd’u come. == they will come.  
> “Mâ what? == We what?  
> Men did == I did?  
> “Udâr, men friends. == It's time, my friends.
> 
>  **Orcs/ Black speech**  
>  Thrakat snaga u ta. == Bring the slave to me.  
> Bûrz gimbhai. == darkness comes.


	6. Chapter 6

_We must pose as some sort of family unit. Once we have what we need we will make for the mountain fast._ Thorin insisted as they picked their way through the trees. They were almost at the city of Bree. Thorin wanted to pick up a pair of ponies to travel with. They could cover a lot more ground with mounts than without.

They just had to figure out how to explain their circumstances. Thorin was pale and had a nasty scratch on his head from whatever had hit him. He also had a limp and blood stained weskit. Bilbo had a nasty scrape on his foot and his shirt was blood stained as well. Not to mention that they were _chained_ _together_. They also had a dog as large as a wolf, a cat that had a _bad_ attitude, and a fauntling that had a scared look in his eyes.

They wouldn’t exactly blend in. Thorin couldn’t even speak common.

“What sort? We’re chained together.” Bilbo assisted Frodo over a fallen tree and held onto the fauntling’s hand. Beorn lumbered behind them with a pack and a cat strapped to his back.

“Khazad.”

“Dwarf?” Thorin stopped walking forward and turned to face Bilbo. The chain rattled and flashed in the waning sunlight. Bilbo could hear the commotion of Bree on the other side of the trees. Thorin flipped through the pages of Frodo’s book with a frown. Whatever he wanted, he wasn’t finding it. He slapped it shut and shoved it in his pack.

“Khazad,” Thorin nodded his head and stepped closer to Bilbo. He grasped both Frodo and Bilbo’s hand in his large, calloused one and met Bilbo’s eyes again. They were urgent and slightly impatient. “Frodo, Bilboûn.”

“My son?” He wasn’t sure if that was what the word meant, but if they were talking about ‘family’ then it made sense. “Frodo actually is my son.”

“Sa.” He released their hands and took a small step back. He pointed at his own chest and then tapped Bilbo’s over his heart. “Men kurdu ‘uBilibo’s. Bilbo, menu kurdu‘u mine.” Bilbo shook his head in confusion. Thorin seemed to struggle for a moment to find another way to put it. Finally: “Zu uyasithaz.” 

Thorin was saying something about them. He wasn’t sure what kurdu or that last word had meant. He hated the not knowing.

“Kurdu?” Thorin thumped his chest and tapped Bilbo’s. Over his heart. “I-I’m sorry? I don’t know what you’re saying.”

Thorin grunted in frustration and looked around. He looked back at Bilbo and grabbed his hand. He slipped a ring off his own hand and put it on the the ring finger of Bilbo’s left hand. He raised his eyebrows hopefully and waited. “Men melekurdu zu?” 

Bilbo still didn’t know what he was trying to say. “It’s lovely?” Thorin grunted and shook his head.

“Men âzyungâl.” He grabbed Bilbo’s face in his hands and hauled him near. They stood like that for a long moment, Thorin’s face mere inches from Bilbo. The dwarf’s breath washed across his face and he felt slightly dizzy with confusion.

Then Thorin’s chapped lips were pressed against his. Bilbo froze and his entire body tensed at the unexpected contact. The dwarf’s warm hands held him still for what was probably a few seconds but felt like a lot longer, and then he pushed Bilbo away and caught his eyes. “Uyasithaz.” His unchained right hand released Bilbo’s cheek and tapped Bilbo’s heart again. “Azyungzu, uyasithaz men’u. Ahyrun izdBree ujzur easily.” 

“Husband maybe?” Frodo offered. Bilbo had forgotten the fauntling was standing beside him. “I think he’s saying you two are married, or betrothed.”

“Then why didn’t he just ask?” Bilbo asked breathlessly. He was very aware of the hand Thorin had cupping his cheek and the other one that was pressing against his heart. He hadn’t realized how warm Thorin’s hands were. The king glared and stepped back with a scowl.

“Zu tanak now.”  He turned around and continued to mutter darkly in khuzdul. Bilbo shook his head in an attempt to clear it and followed before Thorin could drag him with the chain. He grabbed Frodo’s hand again and pushed the butterflies in his stomach away. Now was not the time to get light headed because a (admittedly attractive) dwarf had just kissed him. It was simply to get a point across.

It was just communication. Bilbo would not think of it again. He was chained to Thorin. Thinking of him as an attractive, good kisser was not going to be beneficial. It would make the miles to Erebor longer and tense. Not to mention they were still running for their lives and all that. He needed to get his head back in the game.

It had simply been a long time since he had been kissed

“So, we’re betrothed or something, and Frodo is my son. Okay. Am I to make up more of a tale than that?”

Thorin nodded his head but refused to look at Bilbo. He kept his eyes on the trees in his path and the quickly approaching town. “Mâ tanak khazad traditions.”

Bilbo actually understood that entire sentence. He couldn’t stop the beaming smile that realization brought forth. He was being dragged through the forest by a brooding dwarf with a quick temper and they were being chased by orcs, and who knew what else, but he was getting the hang of khuzdul. “We’re following dwarf traditions? Okay… You lot frequently chain potential spouses?” Thorin glared over his shoulder and Bilbo grinned cheekily. “What? Don’t think your sunny disposition will keep them near?”

He was joking. Bilbo was fairly certain that the fact that they were running from orcs-and possibly something else-hadn’t occurred to him yet. He suspected that he would start shaking when they made camp, and he probably wouldn’t stop.

“Rukhs abban.” Thorin growled darkly before jerking on the chain. Bilbo nearly stumbled but he managed to stay upright. He thought about jerking the chain himself but he didn’t want to hurt Thorin. He still had several injuries. Bilbo wasn’t even sure how he was still walking around. Though, in the week Bilbo had known the dwarf, he had learned that he was stubborn. He could lose a limb and would probably keep walking.

“We’ll need a reason we’re covered in blood.” Thorin shrugged his cape around so that it covered his right side. It blocked almost all of the blood stain. The rest wouldn’t be noticed unless someone studied his chest. Which Bilbo wouldn’t blame anyone for doing. Still, his own shirt wouldn’t be so easily disguised. He didn’t have a cape and he doubted anyone would believe that he had killed a pig or chicken.

Frodo squeezed his hand and smiled cheerfully. The sound of people bustling about rose in the air and Bilbo’s stomach clenched. They were very nearly there. Thorin hesitated at the edge of the tree line and looked back at Bilbo and Frodo. “Thandrukzu Frodo hip.” 

Bilbo considered Frodo who was still smiling easily. “Put him on my hip?” A nod. Bilbo released Frodo’s hand and grabbed him under his arms instead. He lifted the fauntling into the air and propped him on his hip. Frodo promptly wrapped his arms around Bilbo and held on. He was really too old to be held like this through town. They could only hope they didn’t run into any actual hobbits or dwarrows.

Thorin adjusted Frodo and stepped back. He studied them both with a tilted head before nodding his head. “Gamat.”  Bilbo tightened his hold on Frodo and released a breath.

It was time to test their storytelling skills.

-[]-[]-[]-

Bilbo was quite an astute story teller. The tall tales flowed from the hobbit’s mouth easily, along with laughter and innocent smiles that no one seemed to question. He turned on the mysterious charm that all hobbits seemed to possess and no one even thought to question them. He seemed innocent enough that even Thorin would have seen him as harmless. Bilbo had every man laughing at the dwarfish customs of chaining (which was not real) and used Frodo as a distraction whenever someone became overly curious.

Thorin didn’t have to say a word.

Which… he still didn’t know why he could occasionally speak common words. He wasn’t doing anything different. The orc had said it was a curse-which was far better than what he had originally thought. That he was going to be like Bifur. Unable to do anything but khuzdul.

He hated how limited he still was. If he’d had proper use of his speech, he’d be able to secure the ponies without any difficulty.

Still, Bilbo was rather capable. He came up with fake names without any prompting. He was calling himself Meriadoc Underhill, and Frodo was Peregrin Underhill. He had given Thorin the name ‘Dorûn’ and said that he was originally from the Grey Hills. They had apparently met five years ago and were near the end of their fairly lengthy courtship. Dwarrow tradition required that the couple last a month bonded together before they were bonded for life. It sounded believable enough that no one questioned it.

The fact that Thorin glared at anyone who questioned too much helped.

“Sadly we really can’t stay the night.” Bilbo squeezed Frodo in an affectionate hug, not letting any sign of fatigue show. He’d been holding the fauntling for over an hour. His arm had to be sore. The man he was speaking to frowned and stepped nearer. He had dark hair and piercing green eyes. They were darker than Bilbo’s cheerful ones. “We have to reach Dorûn’s cousin by tomorrow evening and that will mean traveling most of the night.”

The man nodded his head and took hold of the gate that kept the ponies he was selling in their fence. “How are you going to pay for Myrtle and Minty?”

“Thundmizim.” Thorin held his arm out and removed a solid gold cuff. He passed it to Bilbo and watched Frodo take it with wide eyes. His mouth formed a little ‘o’ of surprise as he ran his fingers over it. Bilbo hadn’t had any nice jewelry in his house. Whenever they were freed from this thrice damned chain he was going to gift Bilbo with a room full of gold. The hobbit would have the means to repair his house and never want for anything again.

Thorin did not forget those who had helped him. He owed Bilbo a debt for taking care of him, and for handling the fact that they were chained quite well.

Frodo turned the cuff over and inspected the inside. It was an almost dwarf like curiosity. He remembered when Fíli had held his first jewelry.

Bilbo retrieved the cuff from Frodo’s questing fingers with skill that was probably born from years of retrieving items. “With this.” He held it so that the man could examine it, but he didn’t release it. The hobbit had more common sense than Thorin would have given him credit for. Had he been taken advantage of before? “It’s solid gold, as you can see. Quite valuable. Worth more than two ponies.”

The mans eyes met his and flashed. “Then why give it?”

“Because we’re in a hurry.” Bilbo passed the trinket to Thorin.

“Is that all?” The man’s eyes followed the cuff with obvious interest. Thorin passed it from hand to hand with a smirk. The human’s eyes didn’t stray. Beorn padded closer and sat beside Bilbo. He growled low in his throat and the man stepped back. Bilbo continued to smile and hug Frodo.

“That’s it. We just want to buy your lovely steeds so we can reach his cousin and finish this courtship.” Beorn growled again.

“Right. Two ponies.” Myrtle and Minty neighed eagerly and stretched their necks out to receive pets from anybody who would give them one. Frodo complied eagerly. “Mind my asking where you are headed?”

Bilbo’s smile didn’t falter in the slightest bit. “The Weather Hills.” He looked up and shielded his eyes as he examined at the sun’s position in the sky. “Though we’ll have to hurry if we want a fighting chance at arriving on time.”

“Towards Weathertop?” The human gathered the ponies items together.

“Yes.”

He lifted his head and met Bilbo’s gaze. Thorin tried not to bristle. He disliked the way the man was only interacting with Bilbo. “Careful. I’ve heard tale of orcs passing through the hills. They’re looking for something.”

Bilbo’s grin dropped and he pulled Frodo closer. Fright danced across his face openly. “Orcs?”

“Mahmurukh men, Bilbo.”  Thorin placed his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder and squeezed as he stepped closer. Bilbo looked over his shoulder and a ghost of a smile lifted his lips.

“Thank you, melin nín.” Thorin stiffened at the unexpected elvish that flowed all too easily from his lips. What had he just been called?

Why did he care?

-[]-[]-[]-

Myrtle and Minty were wonderfully behaved. Which was a very good thing because Frodo had to ride Myrtle by himself, though Sebastian had quickly joined him. Thorin and Bilbo rode Minty, and Beorn trotted beside them.

They were an odd sight to be sure.

Thorin had never shared his mount before. Bilbo was shorter than him so the hobbit could easily fit on the horse in front of him without blocking his view or rendering him incapable of reaching the reins.

They fit well.

It was well past dark when Thorin finally drew Minty to a stop and slipped off the pony. He helped Bilbo down and they helped Frodo down. They pulled their bedrolls free and laid them out as well.

_We will rest here tonight. Tomorrow we will reach Weathertop._  He had to spell out the name, but Bilbo nodded his head in understanding. Thorin shut the book and sat down. They’d already eaten before riding a few extra miles.

Bilbo watched him with a small, uncertain frown before nodding his head. He helped Frodo out of his vest and sat down, tugging Frodo into his lap. He pulled a brush out of his pack and tended to the fauntling’s unruly hair. Frodo sat without complaint and waited for a moment. Bilbo paused in his brushing and pulled a necklace from his shirt. He passed it to the hobbit with a small smile and a kiss to the back of his head.

It was a pendant of some kind. Carved from wood and strung on a leather strip. Frodo took it and ran his fingers along it. Thorin watched him for a long moment before turning back to look at Bilbo.

The hobbit was already looking at him. The corner of his lip lifted in a small, sad, smile that made something in Thorin’s stomach churn. It was a look of loss.

Something he was familiar with.

Bilbo went back to the curls and straightened them as well as he could. He pulled twigs and leaves out and tossed them aside while he brushed through the curls. He hummed a tune, one Thorin had heard Frodo belt while he played, softly in the back of his throat as he worked. Watching them work made Thorin feel like he was intruding on something intimate. Yet, he couldn’t make himself look away.

He missed his own family.

The last curl was tamed and Bilbo put the brush away. He gave Frodo a hug from behind and released him. “Okay, now off to bed.” Frodo nodded his head and scrambled off Bilbo’s lap. He climbed onto his bed roll and waited patiently for his dad. Thorin extended his arm so Bilbo would have extra room with the chain as the hobbit went to Frodo’s side. Bilbo tucked him into the blankets and ran his hand over the curly head. “I don’t want you leaving this bedroll at any point until the morning. Alright?”

“Yes.” Bilbo pressed a kiss to the brown locks and rested his hand over Frodo’s heart. “Make it a promise, and promise me right.”

Frodo beamed. “I’ll be a good boy all day and night.”

Bilbo nodded his head and sat back. “And I’ll believe that when I see it.” Frodo giggled and snuggled into his blankets. Bilbo moved to Thorin’s side while Beorn settled down by Frodo. The fauntling turned on his side and cuddled closer to the large dog. It was only a few moments later that he was fast asleep.

Bilbo watched him quietly. His hand rested at his throat, his fingers curled around the wooden pendant. Thorin hadn’t seen him put it back on.

“He doesn’t know,” Bilbo said quietly. His gaze was heavy on the fauntling and he was slightly hunched as he leaned forward. He rested his weight on his knees and released a soundless sigh. His head tilted towards Thorin and the sorrow in Bilbo’s eyes made Thorin’s heart stutter. “He doesn’t know that I’m not his father. His father died before he even knew Frodo existed. His mother, Primmie, was very dear to me. I agreed to help her raise him.” Bilbo’s gaze returned to the fire and his shoulders seemed to slump. “She died six years ago in a boating accident. Frodo barely remembers her.”

Thorin burned with want to speak. That he could offer some comfort to Bilbo without his voice was not possible. The hobbit probably still simply saw him as a cold, callous dwarf who had cost him his house and freedom.

“They blamed me.” He murmured away from Thorin. “That’s why I don’t live in the Shire. Why neither of us do. A truly despicable cousin of mine told everyone that Frodo was a ‘bastard’ child and that I was the reason she drowned. They believed her.”

“Oaslâb hubma rakits’u lot." Thorin growled out, unable to keep the sentiment to himself. Bilbo tilted his head towards Thorin and the corner of his lip quirked up. The furrow between his eyes softened and he looked almost happy.

“I have no idea what that means, but it sounds like a perfect description.” He reached out and grasped Thorin’s hand in his own. The small fingers felt fragile in his hold. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, and I’m not the sort for adventure, but I’ll do anything. I can’t have him in danger. If Erebor is safe, that’s where we’ll go.” The hobbit swallowed thickly and his eyes traveled back to the sleeping child. “Thank you for helping to keep him safe.”

Thorin let his own gaze settle on the sleeping hobbit. He would continue to keep them safe as well as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thorin**  
>  Khazad == dwarf  
> Frodo Bilboûn== Frodo is your son.  
> Men kurdu ‘uBilibo’s. Bilbo, menu kurdu‘u mine. ==My heart is yours and your heart is mine.   
> Zu uyasithaz == You will be my betrothed.  
> Men melekurdu zu? == The other half of my heart?  
> Men âzyungâl. == My lover?  
> Azyungzu, uyasithaz men’u. Ahyrun izdBree ujzur easily. == My lover, my husband. Bree will believe the lie easily.  
> Zu tanak now.== You follow now  
> Mâ tanak khazad traditions == We're following dwarf traditions.   
> Rukhs abban == orc balls.  
> Thandrukzu Frodo hip == Put Frodo on your hip.  
> Gamat == Good.  
> Thundmizim == braclet/cuff  
> Mahmurukh men, Bilbo. == I'll protect you, Bilbo.
> 
> **Bilbo**  
>  melin nín == My love.
> 
> **Thorin**  
>  Oaslâb hubma rakits’u lot. == Worthless arseholes the whole lot.


	7. Chapter 7

Dwalin could find information from the most obscure things. Leaves on the ground, snapped twigs, shifted dirt, the mold growing on objects. He seemed to understand nature in a way that Ori would never have expected. The gruff dwarf had no real love for growing things or the 'outdoors' but he was extremely observant of it.

Ori had not realized the dwarf could observe anything but his weapons and fighting. He had seemed oblivious to most everything but guarding and protecting Thorin.

Though, Ori knew very little about Dwalin. He'd only ever had interactions with the dwarf when they were working. Which was probably why the start was awkward. Or it might have been that Ori was not the most social person in the world and was simply not the best at starting conversations. Especially not with dwarrows who were different in every way from him.

Either way, his last minutes at Erebor had been tense.

“I swear on Mahal’s forges, that if you bring my brother back injured in any way, I will pluck every hair from your beard and burn your remains.” Dori had snarled the words and pushed another bundle of clothes into Ori’s hand. He had no idea where his oldest brother thought he would put them.

“He won’t need that.” Nori reached for the clothes and tugged them from Ori’s hands. Ori had let him have them, he’d already had a spare change and he had been focusing too hard on not blushing to care about clothes. Dwalin stared at his oldest brother like the dwarf had grown an extra head. “Give him something useful, like money.”

“Money we have. We don’t need anything else. The packs are already prepared and the ponies saddled.” Dwalin turned his heavy stare onto Nori who returned it without flinching. “You are supposed to be aiding Kíli.”

“My brother is leaving Erebor to go with you, Fundinson, on what will likely be a deadly quest.” He stepped closer to Dwalin and glared. Ori had never seen him look so fierce. He had heard other dwarrows speak about his brothers as though they were to be feared, but he’d never really understood it. They were the annoying, older siblings who just kept him safe and constricted. He could vaguely see it now, the reasons one might have to fear the brothers Ri. “I would make certain he does not come to harm. The ‘king’ can last a while without me.”

“Nori, Dori,” his voice had been quiet but it still caught both his brothers attention.

They had always listened for him. He tried to smile but he thought it probably ended up a bit shaky. “We’ll be fine.” He had then glanced at Dwalin and felt his resolve harden at the steady look in the older warrior’s eyes. Dwalin had not been afraid. He’d been eager to start. Ori wanted to be strong and not have anyone think he was too weak or scared.

He had to help, he was the only one who could.

“Be well, brother.” Nori squeezed his arm and looked at him for a long moment. Ori hadn’t help but feel like he was being memorized incase something bad did happen. It wasn’t very encouraging.

Dori had wrapped him up in a hug and squeezed until Ori was nearly gasping for breath.

And then they had left. The gates to Erebor were nothing but glistening spikes of emerald behind them now. His brothers would be with Kíli in the throne room. Fíli would be grabbing his head in pain and Balin would be frowning in a disappointed manner.

He was already missing them.

He didn’t want to go. He had to. Ori was the only one who knew what the elf that was after Thorin looked like. He had to go across Middle Earth to find the king with a dwarf that made Ori's limited social skills look good enough to make a living as a host. It also meant the wild. Ori was not accustomed to ‘roughing it.’ He thrived on routine and the simple things. Like tea and scarves and books. He didn’t care for the wild or loud fights.

And he did not want to see Draugluin again. Or face the horrendous darkness that had followed in his wake.

“Have you ever left Erebor?”

It took Ori a moment to actually realize that Dwalin was speaking to him. The dwarf hadn’t said a word for the entire day. “Sorry?”

“You,” Dwalin turned his head to peer at Ori over his shoulder before looking back at their path forward. “Have you ever left Erebor?”

“I’ve been to Dale, but no further.” He carefully lead his pony around a particularly rough patch of rocks after Dwalin. His pony went without need for direction. They’d obviously traveled together a lot. Ori had ridden his pony, Gypsy, since the pony was young, but they’d never gone so far.

“Follow my lead, lad, and you’ll be alright. The wild is no place for gentle, unlearned creatures. It is harsh and will not be merciful.” Ori nodded his head and tightened his grips on the reins. He felt a little dizzy. “We have to be quick. The Shire is a month away at a fast pace.”

Ori nodded his head and urged Gypsy on. His first adventure had started. Whether he wanted to be on it or not, he would not let his king down.

-[]-[]-[]-

Traveling on horseback was actually rather difficult. Especially when you had a young, excitable hobbit, a giant dog, a grumpy cat, and you were chained to your riding partner.

Not to mention your partner couldn’t speak common.

Bilbo was slightly amazed they were managing to get anywhere. His dictionary of khuzdul was expanding though.

Weathertop had sounded far more exciting than it actually was. The ruined watchtower had nearly crumbled away and was hardly recognizable as a structure against the hill it rested upon. Thorin had had to spell the word out for Bilbo to even realize it was where the orcs were supposed to be.

They hadn’t spotted a single one yet.

“Arkenstone belh khazâdsan. Arkenstoneûr  mizimel. Gulûm lomilra elevukhur sanlukhud.  Zatakhazâd muneb gajij zagarifâl.” 

“So, you’re the high king of the dwarrows then?” Bilbo didn’t know why Thorin decided to chat but he was thrilled to get rid of the silence. He also only had to go to the book for a few words. He was learning that khuzdul added bits to the end and beginning of words to change what they meant.

Frodo was picking the language up surprisingly fast. He seemed to love making the deep raspy syllables. The harsher it sounded the happier he was.

They had started the last few days off with khuzdul lessons. Thorin was apparently breaking several dwarf codes by speaking khuzdul in front of them, let alone teaching it. He felt as though he was being trusted an inexplicable amount.

It was flattering.

“Sa.” Bilbo dropped his eyes to the saddle he was holding onto. He let his fingers drift up and into the pony’s mane. It was soft and warm in his hands. Riding was dull work, but it did allow them to see beautiful country and to talk. Thorin told more about himself and Bilbo did the same. Frodo even took the chance to tell stories.

“How is that different than a king?” Frodo asked with a bright voice. He was undampered by the fact they were riding for hours and that there was little to do and a very good chance of danger.

“Melhekhbund zabadâl zataüzidin.”

“So you lead the other kings? They’re your subjects?”

“Men Neathùhor ma Erebor.”

“Only if you what to Erebor?” Frodo asked with a confused furrow.

“Only if he summons them to help Erebor.” Bilbo corrected

It was odd to think of Thorin as a king. Odd to think of him as being so grand when Bilbo only ever saw him dirty and chained. He could easily imagine him leading a lot of dwarrows. Thorin had a magnetic pull and a undaunted personality that just made you want to believe in him. He had an air that made Bilbo feel safe and certain that Thorin knew what was going on.

He’d simply imagined kings as being more distant, less… real? He couldn’t put his finger on just what it was. Thorin was simply Thorin. A dwarf with very bad luck, a rough laugh, a dry sense of humor, and a vast knowledge of a lot of diverse subjects. Thorin was honorable, and very ‘duty’ bound as a king should be but Bilbo still had trouble connecting the two things in his mind.

But Thorin wasn’t just a king. He was apparently the king. Head king.

And he was chained to a hobbit. It had to be horrible. He was supposed to have returned to his kingdom nearly a month ago. He had been delayed on the road and extremely late in simply arriving at Rivendell. Erebor would surely be looking for him.

“That would explain why you’re being hunted though.” And that was a subject he was more or less trying to avoid. Thorin’s guilt at the fact that Bilbo and Frodo had fled their home because of Orcs that were chasing him was obvious.

Which was guilt Bilbo didn’t think he should carry. It wasn’t Thorin’s fault that something so evil had hurt him, tried to kill him, and left him very nearly dead in Bilbo’s yard. It wasn’t his fault that he had been cursed and pursued.

Thorin didn’t deserve that.

“And why they could send something so large to capture you. Once we reach Rivendell we should be able to tell-”

“Osa.” The word was barked out almost fearfully.

“No Rivendell?” Bilbo looked over his shoulder to see Thorin frowning. The dwarf was pressed close by necessity and Bilbo found himself noticing just how warm his companion was.

“Osa Rivendell. Mâ Khuthûzh madijn now.” 

“We what?” Thorin hugged Bilbo closer so that he could reach around his waist to flip a page of the open book. His chin rested on Bilbo’s shoulder and his breath was warm against the hobbit’s sensitive ear. He was oddly aware of the contact. It seemed to take a long time for Thorin to tap a word. Bilbo had to stare at it too long to make sense of it before Thorin tapped out the rest of the sentence.

Bilbo repeated the words in his head a few times and swallowed thickly. “You  don’t trust them?” But elves were elves. They were the oldest beings in Middle Earth. They were wise and earth lovers.

“Sa-” and it clicked for Bilbo. He felt foolish for not understanding it before.

“Oh! You were there when you were attacked the first time.”

“Sa.” Thorin pressed forward again and Bilbo tried not to stiffen. He didn’t want to make Thorin suspicious. He didn’t want to give into the fact that he liked having Thorin pressed against him. It had been far too long since he’d been so close to someone so attractive.

He hadn’t allowed himself anything like that since Frodo.

But he was chained to Thorin. He couldn’t start down that train of thought or the journey would be long, depressing, and awkward. Not to mention distracting. It was bad timing, as simple as that.

Thorin’s fingers drifted over the words easily. _I do not know who to trust. I will not risk us on E.L.V.E.S._

Three taps on a word meant he wanted only the first letter. They had to spell a lot of things out. Still, Bilbo was learning the words. It was amazing how much derision he could put into a tap though. It was well known that dwarves weren't exactly 'fond' of elves. Thorin was no exception apparently.

“So we’ll skirt around them then?”

“Sa. Zataganag.” 

Bilbo nodded his head and fidgeted on the saddle. They’d been riding for a long time. “For now.”

“Would you tell a story, dad.” Frodo called from his side. He had Sebastian in his arms and the cat looked as though it was considering mutiny. Bilbo repressed a laugh and turned his head to look at Thorin. The dwarf was staring at the woods bordering the clearing they were in with slightly narrowed eyes. His brow was wrinkled and his mouth was set in a dissatisfied line.

“Do you mind?” The words came out quieter than he had intended, but it felt right to be quiet.

The pale eyes focused on him in mild confusion for a moment before he shook his head. “Osa. Continue.” He looked back at the wild with a hint of a frown. Worry lapped at the back of Bilbo's mind but he put it away. Thorin would let him know if there was something wrong. He was safe with the dwarf’s watch. Thorin had proven himself repeatedly.

“Then get ready Frodo." Bilbo made himself comfortable and smiled. He did love to tell a story. "A long time ago when the music that created the world could still be heard on the winds there was a dwarf of special talent…”

-[]-[]-[]-

“Dain has sent word that he will aid us in the event of an attack. Ered Luin will send reinforcements as well.”

“That,” Kili said as he leaned back in his seat, and finally slouched under the weight of the crown and jewels that he was wearing. “is finally good news. Thank you Balin.” The elderly dwarf stood up and frowned at Kili. He hadn't been terribly pleased to see him dressed up. They'd had their first go as Kili as acting king today. They'd fooled the elf guard at the least. Though Kili was not a fan of his fake beard or makeup. 

“Then there hasn’t been any new developments?”

Fili shook his head. “Not today. No news from anybody. Thorin is still very much not found, the orc hasn’t spoken to Elrond, and Ered Luin hasn’t found him.” Fili twisted in his seat to face the spymaster. Everyone else had reported but the ginger dwarf. “Anything on the elf?” He wasn't hopeful, but he was diligent. There was still a chance at some more good news.

“No,” Nori’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “Just the usual disgruntled chatter.”

Of course.

There were always those who wished to overthrow a king. Conspiracies were common in all kingdoms, no matter how stable they might be. It was easily ignored until there were actual workable plans in place. At that point, the royal guards and spies tended to take care of the threats discreetly and very efficiently.

“Do you think he is in allegiance with Curumo?” Fili asked. Balin’s eyebrow raised in mild surprise but Fili didn’t move his gaze from Nori. There was no reason acting as though they didn’t suspect Curumo. Time for polite discretion was not a gift they had.

“It seems the obvious answer, doesn’t it? The problem is that no one has seen Curumo leave his room. He hasn’t strayed in the last week.”

“What of Bauglir?”

“Nothing. I’ve been in contact with the Iron Hills, Ered Luin, and Rivendell and no one knows the name. Whoever or whatever he is, we haven’t caught anything.”

“So nothing has changed since Dwalin and Ori left.” Nori and Balin both nodded their heads.

Kili sighed heavily and sunk lower into his chair.

The council was antsy. They could be taken care of by ignoring or pretending that Thorin was in fact, simply ill. They needn’t know that Kili was meeting with the elven dignitaries in an attempt to put off a war from hurt feelings.

No, none of that was really worrying Fili. He was alarmed that they had lost Draguluin and had no real idea about who he had been working with, but he was most worried about Thorin.

Where was his uncle?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thorin Translations**
> 
>  
> 
> Arkenstone belh khazâdsan. Arkenstoneûr mizimel. Gulûm lomilra elevukhur sanlukhud. Zatakhazâd muneb gajij zagarifâl. ==The arkenstone unites all dwarves. It is the jewel of all jewels. It shines in the night with a thousand different colors. All dwarrows are bound to follow it’s holder.
> 
> Melhekhbund zabadâl zataüzidin. == The high king leads all other kings.
> 
> Men Neathùhor ma Erebor. == Only when I call them to Erebor.
> 
> Osa Rivendell. Mâ Khuthûzh madijn now. == No Rivendell we cannot trust the elves now.
> 
> Sa. Zataganag. == yes, for now.


	8. Chapter 8

Bilbo had always known that the Misty Mountains were not what one would term a ‘friendly’ mountain. They had been formed by Melkor to hinder the Valar after all.

It was obvious when the party approached them. Thorin had spoken for days about the evils of the mountain in an attempt to prepare the hobbits, but they had not understood just how horrible mountains were to ride across.

They were treacherous. The paths were small, lumpy, and usually coupled with at least one deadly cliff face. They had to go in single file, and discovered that Sebastian was terrified of heights. It was rather disgraceful for a cat. The ponies were uncertain and had to be led by their reins instead of ridden which made for frightfully slow going.

It was cold, unreasonably cold considering the weather should be warming up. They had very few coats, and the constant rain made it difficult to see.

They had deplorable luck. Thorin already had what could be considered deplorable luck, but the mountain decided it wanted to bring Frodo and Bilbo’s luck down as well. Once they were halfway across the mountain the storm took a turn for the far worse.

“Kalat mingalin!” Thorin bellowed as the sky flashed a brilliant white above the rain. Bilbo gripped the reins tighter and reached out for Frodo’s hand as well as a loud clap of thunder shook the air. The cat shrieked and Beorn whimpered under his claws. Thorin shouted again and another clap sounded. Frodo crowded closer and tucked his soaked head against Bilbo’s chest. He was trying not to appear scared and it cut Bilbo to the core.

Minty, the pony Thorin was leading, whinnied in fear as yet another peal of lightning shot across the sky. He reared back, his mane flashing wildly in the wind, and kicked out at the air. Thorin stood his ground despite the hooves flying out around him and tightened his hold on the reins. Minty touched the ground again and he surged forward. He grabbed the horses nose and murmured to him. His eyes seemed to glow in the dim light like pale sapphires. Minty listened to whatever he was saying (Bilbo could only hear the deep rumble of khuzdul, he couldn’t make out the words) and calmed down.

Bilbo was leading Myrtle behind him, and they were having to stretch the chain and their arms as far as possible to continue in that way. Beorn was leading the entire group in the stubborn way of a dog that simply had to be at the front of their pack.

A small, (very stupid) part of Bilbo had always been excited about seeing a mountain. He now believed that they were terribly overrated.

“Bilbo,” Thorin belted over the wind, it was amazing how loudly the dwarf could shout, “Nisherab-” he cut off on a choke as Minty once again reared in the air. The ground seemed to shake all around them, and a horrible noise echoed through the air. It was louder than the thunder and harsher than clanging two pans together. Frodo yelped in fright and buried his chilled fingers into Bilbo’s vest.

The hobbit peered out at the pouring rain in an attempt to see what was going on. Thorin was jerking his arm around in an attempt to settle the frightened pony and it was making it difficult to stand still. He slipped on the wet rock and for a moment, he blamed that on what he thought he saw.

Because there was simply no way that rock was breaking away from the mountain across from them and standing up, free from the cliff face.

“Kalat mingalin mahmazar!” (Thunder fight!) Thorin shouted as loudly as he could while trying to restrain the now wild with fright pony. Bilbo held onto Myrtle as well as he could, who was also deciding that she did not want to be on the cliff face either. He looked over his shoulder to see Thorin, his heart hammering wildly in his chest.

What did he mean ‘thunder battle?’ What, in the name of the Green Lady, was a thunder battle?

Myrtle kicked out and pegged him squarely on the shoulder. He cried out in pain and staggered back. His grip on the reins loosened slightly and Myrtle jerked all the harder. He lost sight of Thorin behind him, and felt Frodo slip away from his hold. He was desperate to know what was going on with the mountain behind him, but he had to keep a hold on the pony. They would never make it to Erebor without them.

They had to make it to Erebor. Thorin needed to be reunited with his people, and he had to fight back against whoever was trying to kill him. Bilbo couldn’t return to his own home without the aid of the king.

“Zubuzru!” A loud crash sounded somewhere behind Bilbo and the ground beneath his feet crumbled away. Myrtle whined in terror and backed away as much as she could, despite being bound to Minty. Frodo screamed at the top of his lungs and went down, with Bilbo by his side.

He slid down the crumbling rock and scrambled out for a hold on anything as rock scraped his skin and ripped his clothes. The wind howled around him and the rain made everything too slick. He couldn’t tell up from down, or where the hold was that would get him back by Thorin and the ponies. Everything was a confusion of noise and grey colors.

Bilbo had no real idea of what was happening. Instinct took over all rational thought and he grabbed for Frodo with half frozen, nerveless fingers. He caught the hobbit around his middle and hauled him nearer while they went down the side of the ruined cliff face. Frodo scrambled at him, making it impossible to get a grip on the slick rock. He couldn’t even acknowledge the fact that they were still falling before his right arm was jerked up and overhead by the chain that was yet connected to Thorin’s arm.

They dangled over the edge by his wrist and Thorin, who had somehow managed to remain standing on the cliff edge. The crash sounded again and Bilbo, half wild, turned his face from the rock, not noticing that the stone tore at his cheek, to look.

In one terrible moment, he understood what a thunder battle was.

There were giant masses that were hardly discernible through the rain. Large forms that were somewhat proportioned like a being, moved around the valley between mountains. They were made of what had to be stone and crumbled away from the mountains in slow steps. They were furious at each other. Two were brawling with huge blows that sounded louder than thunder ever could, and a third was hurling rocks.

“Bilbo!” Thorin’s voice broke through the rage of noise swirling around. Bilbo’s head jerked up to see the dwarf with wide, terrified eyes peering down at him. The chain was tight between them, and thankfully magical because Bilbo wasn’t certain it wouldn’t have snapped otherwise. Beorn was at his side with wild eyes, and whining loudly.

Frodo was bawling into his chest and the fauntling was Bilbo’s only real concern. He had to get him up to the dwarf. “Frodo!” He tried to cry, but it came out far more like a squeak. Thorin braced his right arm against the ground and pushed up with all he had. Bilbo was pulled up as well, along with Frodo.

Thorin was going to pull them up.

He got his knees under himself and grabbed at the chain with his right hand before moving backwards on his knees. Bilbo jerked a few inches further up and Beorn howled.

The ground shook violently and Thorin nearly stumbled. He righted himself and pushed to his legs. Another few inches were gained. “Ibzag ayaabad!” Thorin bellowed to the sky as he tugged on the chain. Bilbo clung to Frodo with all he was worth. He tried to get a hold on the rock with his feet but everything was too slick. A horribly loud crashing noise tore through the air and the rock against his chest began to move.

They weren’t just in a thunder battle. They were on a stone giant.

Thorin became frantic. He panted for air his rib was still cracked, Bilbo remembered distantly, and tilted his head back. He growled something out in khuzdul and the hobbits started to rise quickly. Thorin’s right hand clasped around the chained hand, and his feet found ground. He scrambled forward, slipped, and promptly fell on top of the dwarf right as the giant they were on fully stood.

The wind rushed around them with rain that felt more like darts than water, and cracks filled the air. He couldn’t see what was happening because he was squished to the ground. Beorn leap on to their backs and held them down as they went crashing into another mountain.

“Ashf Beorn.” Thorin rumbled. The dwarf’s hand was still firmly clamped around Bilbo’s wrist. Beorn stood up and freed them and they pushed up. “Khafush!”

“Cave!” Frodo responded. He clung tighter to Bilbo and they stood up as quickly as they could. Thorin staggered forward and Bilbo followed him. He couldn’t see anything but the dark mass of hair that was the dwarf. He had no problem trusting Thorin. He was safe doing so.

Before he quite knew what was happening they were ducking into a dark hole in the side of the mountain. It stopped being wet and the horribly loud crashes dulled down. It wasn’t terribly large, but it was perfect for their needs.

Bilbo sucked in a large breath and realized his lungs were burning. His eye stung from the water and who-knew-what that had gotten into his eyes, and every inch of his body ached. He was shivering unstoppably, and Frodo was doing the same in his arms. His wrist hurt terribly, and he could see that it was worn around the cuff.

Beorn and Sebastian were with them. The ponies were no where to be seen. Thorin caught his gaze and shook his head.

Right then. Just them. He hoped they made it back to safety.

“Men aganurs.” The dwarf muttered and limped toward Beorn. The dog sat down obediently and let Thorin get at the packs tied around him. Bilbo set Frodo on a rock near the middle of the cave and examined him. The hobbit was scratched all over from the fall, but there were no deep cuts to be found. He’d be bruised and sore in the morning.

His own body was less lucky. He had a cut on his cheek that was bleeding, several contusions on his hands, and he was worried he might have broken a toe.

Thankfully, Thorin was adept at surviving in the wild. He had a fire built quickly. The warmth was delicious, especially since Bilbo still couldn’t stop shaking. He thought it might have been a little of Adrenaline.

Thorin thrust a blanket at his face. “Binikud.”

He turned to look at Frodo who shrugged and started to pull off his coat. What?

“Pardon?”

“Binikud.” Thorin said again, “Oclothes.”

“No clothes?” His voice broke on a shiver and Thorin nodded. He tugged at his own boots disinterestedly. Frodo had his coat off and almost had his shirt unbuttoned.

“Zu mahiklal.” Thorin slipped his boots off and stood up. He unfastened his belt and Bilbo was helpless to do anything but gape as Frodo and Thorin stripped. The dwarf undid his shirts but kept them on because of the chain. He looked up and saw Bilbo still dressed and huffed in annoyance. The dwarf’s large hands went to his chest and started to undo the buttons on his vest. Bilbo squeaked in shock.

Thorin made an impatient noise. “Alright! Alright! I can do it.” Frodo snorted and put his clothes by the fire like Thorin had. He was only in his underthings.

“Togim anaurs, Frodo.” The fauntling nodded and went to sit in front of the flame. Bilbo pulled his clothes off with cheeks that were flaming.

Why was he embarrassed? They’d changed in front of each other before.

“Zu ubùrush.” Thorin murmured quietly. He ran his fingers along Bilbo’s raw wrist with a tender touch. Bilbo started at the unexpected contact. His heart thumped in his chest and his mouth felt startlingly dry. He was pulled up by gentle hands (they were so big and calloused, how could the dwarf be so gentle?) and led to the fireside. Thorin set him down and took a seat at his side.

Bilbo swallowed thickly and watched as the fire crackled and sparks burst into the air in a random pattern of light. Frodo was slumped against Beorn. He was already slipping to sleep. The fright had left him utterly exhausted.

Bilbo felt small and disquiet. Thorin was silent at his side, staring at the fire with solemn eyes.

“Thank you.” It wasn’t enough, obviously. Thorin turned to look at him and Bilbo notice he winced slightly. His eyes trailed down to look at what had caused the reaction and his mouth popped open in shock. The ribs were a violent purple and the stab wound looked nearly retorn.

“Oubùrush.” Thorin said, shaking his head as he caught Bilbo’s gaze. The quiet denial squeezed at Bilbo’s heart and he frowned as his hand lifted up from his lap. He brought it to Thorin’s stomach and gingerly ran his hand around the injury.

“I’ll need to rebind this. You should have spoken up.”

“Bi-”

“Don’t dare try and say it’s nothing.” He stopped speaking and felt his mouth drop open. Thorin had raised his hand to deny the need for aid and it was the chained hand. His wrist had been torn into by the cuff. He was bleeding and raw and it looked so horribly painful.

“Oh,” Bilbo reached for it and Thorin put up no fight. He turned the hand over slowly and pushed the cuff down to better see the injury. It wasn’t pleasant.

He reached to the shirt that was hanging off his shoulders and grabbed the bottom hem. He considered Thorin’s chest and the injured wrist with a frown before ripping a long strip off the bottom of his shirt. He tore another strip as well. Thorin gaped at the ripped bottom half of his shirt and Bilbo couldn’t help his wry smile. “It’s just a shirt. My vest will preserve proprietary, no one will be any the wiser on the bottom of my shirt. You need tending.”

“Bilbo,”

Wasn’t that wonderful? It was something that could be understood in any language. Names didn’t have to translate.

He didn’t respond, and really couldn’t. Frodo’s quiet, breathy snores echoed through the cave, the only noise in the silence. Bilbo dipped the tip of his strip in a little water and dabbed at the skin. He wiped the blood away and kept his eyes down. It felt terribly personal, far more so than the other times he had aided Thorin.

It was different now. He’d started their … relationship off by saving the dwarf. Then they had both fought the orcs. This was the first time Thorin had truly saved him. It was also the first time since he’d started having the (confusing) thoughts about the dwarf.

He liked him. It was simple and wonderful, and very much a bad idea.

He wrapped the strip around Thorin’s chest, tightly enough that it would encourage proper healing, but not tightly enough to harm him further. Thorin didn’t speak. The remaining strip was used to clean up the cut around the cuff, and to bind it. His fingers trembled near the end but he wasn’t cold any longer.

Something was changing. He just couldn’t say for sure what it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thorin's Translations**  
>  Kalat mingalin! =thunder  
> Nisherab = Stand  
> Kalat mingalin mahmazar! =Thunder fight!  
> Zubuzru! =Bilbo, duck!  
> Ibzag ayaabad! = Damn this accursed mountain!  
> Ashf Beorn. =off Beorn  
> Khafush! = cave  
> Men aganurs.= I’ll start a fire.  
> Binikud.= without clothes  
> Zu mahiklal.= You’ll get a cold.  
> Togim anaurs, Frodo.= Sit in front of the fire Frodo  
> Zu ubùrush.= You’re hurt.  
> Oubùrush.= i’m fine.


	9. Chapter 9

Thorin had slipped up.

He wasn’t certain when it had happened, only that it had indeed happened. He’d started noticing the hobbit, and he feared he would not now stop doing so.

He had very nearly lost Bilbo and Frodo to the side of the mountain. He had lost the ponies to his recklessness and inability to rescue the two any quicker. He should have kept them out of the danger. Instead he had been forced to drag them back up.

Would it have been better to have trusted Elrond? Their alliance went back generations… If he only knew of a way to be certain the elf had not betrayed him!

He couldn’t focus on such thoughts. He had already chosen his path. Wondering about another would not change the choices already made. It was better not to trust anyone. Trust was dangerous in so dire of circumstances.

The ground was miserably uncomfortable. His body ached and his head was pounding.

The Misty Mountains were finished, and they had managed to cross them without dying. Thorin had been certain that would not be attainable. Especially after he spotted the goblin tracks. They reached the bottom of the mountain by the Gladden River which found them fresh water. He managed to bring down a brace of conies with Beorn’s aid and they had finally supped well.

Bilbo had spent the hour before bed gathering healing herbs. He had quite a large bundle drying out by the waning fire now. He’d put Frodo to work on taking his extra shirt and making bandages. They had very little in way of supplies. They would need to gather more food and new skins for water.

Still, Thorin was full, pleasantly warm, and relatively danger free. Bilbo was asleep, as was Frodo and Sebastian. The large dog was keeping the last watch and Thorin was free to rest.

He simply couldn’t. His mind would not stop murmuring long enough for him to find the blissful oblivion of rest. There was too much to occupy his thoughts.

What had happened to him on his journey to Erebor the first time? He could only catch the barest snatches of memory. He knew that he’d been feasting with his guards when the attack had happened. He could vaguely recall the sun being blotted out as everything became a shadow, and terrible pain.

Then he was waking up and looking at green eyes and gingery-gold curls. He couldn’t even remember being cursed. Losing his tongue was a brilliant way to insure he could not seek help, and the chaining left him wary. What evils had been planned for him?

He had met few survivors of orc imprisonment. They were never free from the terrors inflicted on them.

Worry for Erebor was also at the forefront of his mind. Fili would be haggling with the Council, an unruly lot who mostly followed Thorin out of a hefty dose of fear. They would try and push Fili. There would also be a new alliance rising with the elves. Thranduil was notoriously prissy about such things.

Did his family know he had been harmed? Were they looking for him? Were they aware that someone was plotting against the throne?

And then there was his own well-being. The wild was not a safe place, and he could hardly fight. He was bound to a hobbit who knew very little of survival except for how to heal, and a child. He had dragged them into this terrible thing.

The hobbit was curled up on his side with Frodo tucked securely against his chest. His un chained arm was draped over the fauntling’s back, holding him near. He had his chin on top of the dark curls and a soft smile was lifting his lips. It was fitting that the hobbit smiled even in his sleep. He was always so happy.

They were an unlikely trio. A dwarf and two hobbits trekking across Middle Earth. Made all the stranger for the loyal animals that followed them. They would have been quite the sight on their own. With the injuries and chain… well, they were unforgettable.

Yet Thorin did not grieve his circumstances. He liked Bilbo. He enjoyed the hobbit’s steadfast companionship and quiet strength. He faced circumstances no hobbit ever should, but he didn’t complain. His devotion to Frodo was also touching.

Thorin turned his head and studied the hobbit in the light of the night.

Bilbo’s golden curls were spread out over the dirt and had little bits of twigs and rock stuck in them from their long trek. He was covered with freckles that Thorin found fascinating. No dwarf ever had the strange little spots, yet they were oddly appealing. Dark little flecks on the otherwise golden skin. The sun had made everything about Bilbo more golden. Even his eyes seemed to have little ochre flecks in them in the light of day.

Bilbo was himself like sunlight. More so since they had entered the accursed, rain-ridden mountains.

Thorin sat up abruptly and shook his head. He was going mad. The hobbit was a hobbit, and he was not going to start thinking poetically about him. He was nothing like sunlight, no matter how brightly he seemed to shine.

Thorin laid back down slowly, his body stiff and sleep maddeningly far away now. He would not find rest any time soon.

At least the stars were bright. They would keep him amity without judgement while his own thoughts were poor companionship.

Bilbo made a snuffling noise and wiggled forwards towards Thorin, taking Frodo with him. His arm pressed along the length of Thorin’s own and it made him tremble violently.

He was losing his control. It was a cloak he wore about himself at all times. A comfortable way of existing that had never been challenged. How could he let the halfling under his skin? How could he let the hobbit he had to travel with affect him so?

How could he possibly be drawn to the one whose life he had nearly ended? He had ruined the halfling’s life enough. He should not fall for Bilbo. It wasn’t logical or fair to the halfling. They could not truly pursue anything because Thorin could not keep him, no matter how much he might find himself longing to do so.

He could not take anything more from the dear hobbit. Erebor would not entice creatures of sunlight. While his home was beautiful, and shone with light, it was not growing. Bilbo would not want to dwell with him there. Thorin was a king, he could not relocate.

He could not slip any longer. At least not until he knew if the hobbit could return his feelings. He would not speak of them otherwise. He would not hope unless Bilbo (by some wild fancy) sought him first.

Then time would decide their options.

-[]-[]-[]-

Traveling over the flatish land at the foot of the Misty Mountains should have been easier. Thorin was heavily injured though, and they had no ponies. So Bilbo made it a point to travel more slowly in hopes that the dwarf would have a chance to heal.

Because Thorin was possibly the most stubborn being Bilbo had ever met, he had to exaggerate the damage to his toes. (He had two broken ones.) Thankfully Thorin was fairly mystified by bare hobbit feet and had no idea how sturdy they were. The lack of shoes made him worry that Bilbo would be incapable of walking at all if they weren’t careful. As they had no ponies, that was not an option.

Which meant the time till they reached Erebor grew longer.

The days still passed pleasantly enough. Thorin kept careful eyes on the path and kept the orc sword well looked after. There were signs of a pack of orcs traveling nearby recently but they hadn’t seen any of the beast yet. Bilbo fervently hoped they wouldn’t.

They would talk about random things as the day passed by. Whether it was teaching Frodo things about the wild or different plants, or learning more about each others history, the air was rarely without some sort of conversation.

Night was Bilbo’s favorite. They set up camp as well as they could with their very limited supplies and cooked a modest dinner. Thorin sent Beorn to scout the surrounding area (since he couldn’t tied to Bilbo) and then they’d eat. The conversation became more lively, despite the language barrier and book talk. Thorin would then teach them basic sword practice as well as the best way of throwing things. He’d made Frodo a slingshot and the fauntling was becoming quite adept with it. Bilbo hated the reason for the weapon practice, but he enjoyed the actual practices.

Once Frodo retired for the night the subject could (and did) drift to anything.

Bilbo liked the alone time. He wasn’t ashamed to admit it. He wasn’t exactly in a position to deny his attraction to the brooding dwarf. It was just something to live with. They hardly had time for a romance fleeing from Yavanna knew what. Unrequited love was common enough. Bilbo wasn’t the only hobbit in Middle Earth to suffer from it. Though, very few could claim being chained to their wished paramour.

It seemed a bit silly as well. He was pining while they were trying to return to a kingdom to be de-cursed. Priorities. He clearly needed to learn them.

Bilbo had somehow managed to corral Frodo into his lap and was now trying to tend to his horrendously mangled curls. They had started out covered in wildlife and horribly matted, but he managed to mostly untangle the brown locks.

He set one last bit of leaf aside and sighed as he considered Frodo’s curls. They were hanging in his eyes despite the number of times he’d pushed them away. “What am I going to do with you, lad?”

“Buheogimzd." Thorin sat down on the ground beside Bilbo and reached for Frodo’s hair. The fauntling stood up and scrambled into his lap before crossing his legs and propping his chin on his hand. He behaved for the dwarf. The little rat.

“What?” He reclined back and settled down to watch the proceedings. He trusted Thorin and Frodo was obviously willing to let him do whatever to his hair.

In answer to Bilbo’s question, Thorin grabbed one of his braids and tapped Frodo’s hair with the other hand. “Braiding? Will that work?”

Thorin gave him a look as though he had just personally insulted the honor of every dwarf, both living and dead. “Sa. Zuznu hobbit.” Bilbo laughed, caught of guard by the snark. Thorin could be remarkably funny, but he rarely used his quick wit.

“Excuse you! I’ll have you know I’m considered quite clever for a hobbit.” He leaned back on his palms and watched as Thorin separated the hair into small sections before he began to weave them together in a style across Frodo’s head. His nimble fingers took up more hair as he worked across the top of Frodo’s surprisingly still head. “Male hobbit’s rarely let their hair grow long enough to do anything with. It’s not respectable or sensible.” He tilted his head as Thorin looked over at him. His fingers didn’t even hesitate in the pattern. It would do a splendid job of keeping the strands from Frodo’s eyes. He didn’t look terribly impressed with Hobbit respectability. “Pointless to care anymore. I have long left respectability behind. If the lad can see I’ll be happy.”

“It doesn’t itch any longer.” Frodo commented. He pulled at the grass at his feet and started to systematically tear it apart in boredom.

“Would that work on me?” He lifted his gaze to meet Thorin’s and found his breath catching in his throat for some uncertain reason. It was the same blue eyes that he was always looking at. They were just a little brighter than usual.

“Sa.” Thorin said quickly with a nod of his head. Bilbo’s heart fluttered and a lump formed in his throat. Thorin’s gaze dropped back to the hair he was braiding and he brought the braid down and made a weave of seven strands that hung behind Frodo’s ear. He held the tip of the braid between two large fingers and fished a small blue bead from his pocket.

“Men  namadinùdoy, Fili.” He placed the bead at the base of the braid and clasped it shut.

“Your nephew? He’s the older one, right?” Frodo asked, still sitting perfectly still. Bilbo was impressed with how good he was being. He also felt a flair of pride at how astute the fauntling was. He’d learned about Thorin’s family with well aimed questions and remembered every name.

“Sa. Zu done.” Frodo hopped up and  went straight for the stream they were near. Beorn followed him and sat down by the waters edge as Frodo peered down at himself.

Thorin’s chuckle drew Bilbo’s attention away. The dwarf stared at the fauntling for a few moments that Bilbo took to study the sharp angles of his face. The pale eyes drifted to him and seemed to soften. He beckoned Bilbo nearer and the hobbit went with a swallow. He settled himself in front of Thorin and tried not to fidget.

Thorin had broad hands that should not have been gentle. Bilbo had no idea how he managed to untangle the locks and not pull his hair at all. The dwarf’s fingers brushed against the tip of his ear as they gathered up more curls and Bilbo shivered, to his utter horror. He tried to hide the movement behind a cough.

“Right, um, do braids mean different things?” More hair was pulled away from his face and Thorin started to weave them together in a different style from the one he used on Frodo.

“Sa.”

“Like what?” Thorin huffed and stopped braiding. Bilbo was worried he’d insulted The dwarf for a moment before the braiding resumed.

“Zu khùgir gamat, Bilbo, gamatur dwarves. Zuogim ghur ana braid. Men zirkh menra show.  Dizhibu ghackaz men status.” The steady twisting of the braids stopped after Thorin spoke. He exhaled and the warmth of his breath washed over Bilbo’s head.

He blinked and tried to make sense of all the unknown words, and then he laughed. Thorin made the curse work for him.  “You are brilliant. You really are. Dwarves show status with braids? Anything else?”

Thorin resumed the braiding motion. Frodo had sat down at the creeks edge and was playing in the water. “Sa. Ana algâb men zirikhur zu, Lovers.”  Bilbo shivered at the low tone Thorin spoke with. The words felt like a caress.

“Really?” His voice came out a little croaky. Thorin’s laugh, more of a deep rumble, sounded behind him and made his ears grow hot.

“Sa. Ma yamah family.”

He was suddenly curious what the braids that had been used on Frodo and himself meant. Thorin clasped the braid with a bright green bead and dropped his hands to either side of Bilbo. He remained still for a long minute, unable to move himself. Thorin was surrounding him and it was messing with his lungs.

He swallowed thickly and gave himself a mental shakedown. He was being silly again. Priorities.

He stood up with a mumbled ‘Thank you’ and headed towards the waters edge, Thorin dutifully trailing behind him. Frodo splashed around cheerfully while Beorn and Sebastian watched from the shore. Sebastian was curled around Beorn’s back leg to keep himself from getting wet while he bathed himself.

Bilbo went to a spot a few feet away and knelt at the water’s edge. He brought his hands to the water and scooped up a handful to wash his face while he snuck a glance at his new braid. It was a complicated thing made with six strands that wound around his face and kept his curls neatly bound.

It was beautiful and delicate and exceptionally upper class looking.

“Gamut?” Bilbo spluttered and spilt the water he’d scooped up. He shot to his feet and tried not to blush. He’d somehow forgotten that Thorin would be there. He hardly noticed the cuff around his arm any more, it had been on for so long.

Thorin looked please at the speed of his reaction, and not terribly sorry that he had frightened Bilbo. “Yes, yes. Quite good. Very practical and much cooler than the long...locks…” His voice trailed off as Thorin stepped near him, his gaze intent on Bilbo’s face. His hand raised to the air by Bilbo’s face and his breath caught.

Thorin ran his finger down Bilbo’s cheek. His lips lifted in a small smile and he pressed against a specific spot on Bilbo’s cheek. “Khômur ram? Interesting.” He mumbled as the corner of his lip quirked up.

“Hmm?” Bilbo murmured. He felt a little dizzy. He couldn’t quite seem to get enough air. Thorin’s presence seemed to steal all the oxygen from the area. His hand was hot and it made every nerve of Bilbo’s face come alive. The finger trailed about his face in seemingly random lines. “Bilbo.” The dwarf said slowly, his accent thick. It felt as though he wasn’t aware of the words.

A low growl broke through the haze. Beorn was standing and glaring at something behind Thorin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Thorin Translations**
> 
> Buheogimzd = braid them. (specifically ‘bind hair’ them. Why does khuzdul not have a word for braid?)  
> Sa. Zuznu hobbit. = Yes. Crazy hobbit)  
> Men namadinùdoy, Fili. = My nephew, Fili’s.  
> Sa. Zu done. = Yes. You're done.  
> Zu khùgir gamat, Bilbo, gamatur dwarves.= You smell nice, Bilbo, nicer than dwarves.  
> Zuogim ghur ana braid. = Your hair is easy to braid.  
> Men zirkh menra show. = I wish I could somehow show.  
> Dizhibu ghackaz men status. = It is difficult because of my status.  
> Sa. Ana algâb men zirikhur zu, Lovers. = To declare what I would with you, lovers.  
> Sa. Ma yamah family. = Yes. We also use it for family.  
> Gamat? = Good?  
> Khômur ram? Interesting. = Freckles? Interesting.


	10. Chapter 10

Nori snuck into the throne room with a silence that Fíli envied. There were three elven guards, and the King Thranduil standing in front of the throne but none of them noticed the spymasters entrance. He went directly to one of the large statues depicting some deceased relative of Fíli’s and hid away.

Kíli kept talking with a voice that was far deeper than he naturally used, and husky because of it. He made the words sound not quite natural, but that was only obvious to Fíli and Balin.

“Once these simple request are met I believe we will have the means to provide a very lucrative trading agreement.” The elf inclined his head slightly so that his golden hair slid over his shoulder in a silky brush. The crown on his head remained perfectly still, not a single berry moved. Fíli wasn’t certain how they stayed on.

One of the guards behind him, a ginger-haired elf with green eyes and a pleasant smile was studying Kíli with a tilted head. Her eyes looked a little too keen on Kíli’s face. Nori’s makeup job on Kíli was impeccable. Even Dís had given it her approval.

But the staring made him uncomfortable none the less.

“I would not use the term ‘simple’ so loosely, King Thranduil.” Kíli drawled. He sat taller on the throne and stared down his nose at the elf with an imperious air that was remarkably like Thorin. “Nonetheless, I will present the wishes of your people to our council. We will discuss the matter and return with our own terms.”

“How long will that take?” Thranduil’s eyes flashed but his voice remained perfectly pleasant. He had the strangest way of standing that made him look as though he thought everything around him was dirty and not worthy of being touched by his elegance.

“As long as it takes.” Kíli stood and smiled in a slightly condescending manner. “You are, of course, aware of how councils can go.” He remained at the top of the steps to his throne which put him just above Thranduil’s eyeline. “If you will excuse me, your highness, I have a pressing matter to which I must now attend.”

“Of course.” Thranduil stood taller, vainly trying to reach Kíli’s height. “I am elf, I can wait. Days are nothing to my kind.” Then with a imperious swish of his ridiculous robes, he flounced out of the throne room with his guards following him. The red-headed guard was the last out. She gave a lingering look to Kíli who winked in response.

“That was tense.” Kíli commented once the door shut. The guards went to make certain no one entered and Nori came out from his hiding place.

“That was immaterial.” Balin said as he went up to the throne. “Thranduil is not a large problem. We can prolong his visit indefinitely by political bureaucracy. As long as he believes he enjoys the King’s attention he will be satisfied.”

“Yes, we know that he has already informed his son that he will not return for another two months. We have plenty of time.” Dori wrung his hands as he spoke. He did that a lot in recent days. He was stressed over his younger brother. Every day that went without news on them or Thorin made the dwarf more haggard looking.

Fíli was fighting despair as well. It hardly seemed likely that his uncle was still alive. Thorin was the strongest dwarf he knew. He had an indomitable spirit and a fierceness that Fíli coveted. If he had not managed to return to them yet, or to even send a message…

It did not bear thinking about.

“The lady-guard was staring quite hard. I’m attractive and everything, but that was suspicious.”

For the first time since his brother had assumed the position, Fíli saw his age. Kíli’s blue eyes were wide and slightly damp in their largeness. They were earnestly staring at him as though they were waiting for him to make the suspicion go away. His hand trembled the slightest bit where it hung loosely by his side while the other hand gripped the handle of the throne. His pose was tense and uncertain.

Kíli was barely of age. He wasn’t even allowed to start looking for a potential mate for another ten years. He’d been in court training since he was fifty, of course, but he had not been put under such pressure before. He’d never even fought in a battle. He’d never taken the throne while Thorin went on political business, and he’d never had to lie for such a period of time.

What’s more, Thorin was a father to him. He had no memories of their true father as Fíli had. He was torn up and terrified that their uncle might be dead, but he had no moment to show it.

Fíli’s chest constricted and his heart thumped painfully hard in his chest. He wanted to embrace his brother and protect him from everything, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t protect them from their blood inheritance.

“Nori?” He asked, instead of answering. The dwarf finally reached them and was frowning.

“My contacts have information, and we have a report from Lord Elrond.”

“Give us Lord Elrond’s report first.” Balin rushed before anyone else could speak.

“The orc revealed that they had been sent to capture Thorin. Frain, the fourth member of his guard, was killed. Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur were captured, but they helped Thorin elude the orc company.”

“Mahal,” Kíli breathed in horror. He sank back onto the throne heavily.

“There’s more. They didn’t just send the wargs and orcs. They sent a muzmaz ananîd (fell beast.)”

“What?” Why would they send a Fell Beast? The Carrion birds were hardly subtle. Anyone could see them, thought they would be hard to escape.

“Does no one know where he is then?”

“He was lost outside of Rivendell, but he didn’t make it back To Ered Luin.”

“That is a lot of ground to cover.” Balin muttered. Nori didn’t stop talking.

“Lord Elrond has not spotted the bird, but there has been news from Bree that a great beast fell near the midgewater. I’ve sent scouts to examine it. I should have news on it by tomorrow.” Nori swallowed thickly and turned his gaze to the throne. His eyes landed on the Arkenstone displayed at the top of the throne so that all Erebor could see it. The greatest jewel of the kingdom and the unifying force of all dwarves. The one thing that made Erebor the head kingdom and Thorin so very important.

Fíli felt ill.

“In the kingdom my contacts have uncovered a worrying bit of news on the apparent plot.”

“Ori’s conversation?” Balin clarified. Nori nodded his head and his eyes once again shot to the Arkenstone.

“There is whisper of a power rising in the north by the name of Bauglir. Not much is known about him save that he can apparently appear on a whim from the shadows. Draguluin is believed to be one of his servants. He has been gathering rare gems to his side. Ones of tremendous value to their kingdoms.”

Every eye in the room promptly shot to the Arkenstone. “That was our suspicion.”

“Then why bother to kidnap Uncle if they want the stone?”

“Because only Uncle can summon the dwarves together to protect it.” Fíli met Balin’s horrified gaze and knew his own face was making a similar expression. “They’ve backed us into a corner.”

“If we reveal that Thorin is missing then they know they were successful, and Thranduil will proclaim war for deceiving him.”

“They’ll also start clamoring for the throne.” Balin pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes against a headache.

“Then what must we do?” Kíli asked. He needed direction. That was what he did. He followed instructions. He wasn’t prepared to lead. Not like this.

“We protect the stone.” Fíli stepped forward determinedly and drew the attention of the other three dwarves. He had been fighting the responsibility since his Uncle had left for Ered Luin. He had quietly let others lead and make the decisions.

It was time to step up and lead the kingdom. He couldn’t stand by and hope his Uncle popped back up to save the day.

It was time for him to save it himself.

-[]-[]-[]-

Ori’s neck hurt, and he was fairly certain that he would never manage to walk properly again.

He would also rather die than complain.

Dwalin led them onwards with long glances at the ground they traveled across. He noticed the tiniest details and made sense of the most unassuming things. Ori didn’t understand what the dwarf was seeing or what it was they were following , but he trusted the warrior.

There were certain things he could depend on. Dori and Nori protecting him, Kíli pulling pranks, and Dwalin following Thorin. The rough guard would find him. Ori just had to follow him.

They slept under the stars with no fire, making the barest minimum for a camp. They traveled quickly, and there was little time for rest.

Dwalin was not quiet. He always seemed aloof and silent and brooding. He joked with those he was near, but Ori would not have put himself in that group.

The dwarf chatted though. He drew Ori out of his mind and made him relax. He allowed Ori to help with keeping watch and getting food for their dinners. He didn’t treat him as some helpless youngling.

They had reached the trees of Mirkwood the previous evening and they were now trying to pick their way through the forest.

It felt sick. He wasn’t certain what was wrong with it, and he couldn’t pretend like he was all that acquainted with growing things,  but the air was too heavy and just wrong. The trees were molding over and the atmosphere left them feeling almost dizzy if they stood still for too long.

“What are you doing, laddie?”

Ori felt his cheeks and ears flushing, despite how hard he was willing them not to. He took a moment to curse his ancestors for his annoyingly pale skin that made it so obvious when he was embarrassed before turning back to Dwalin sheepishly.

He’d been staring at a bush for at least a minute. There was something not quite right with it.

“I… I’m not sure. Something doesn’t quite seem right.”

“Come along, we’re fine. The trees are simply getting to you.”

“Said the spider to the fly.” Ori mumbled as they stepped back towards the darker trees.

“Pardon?” Ori started and tried not to blush again. He hadn’t realized he’d spoken outside. Dwalin smirked and Ori glared. He zoned out in thought frequently and Dwalin clearly found it funny.

“It’s a poem. A spider lures a fly into its parlor then eats it.”

“Charming.” Dwalin muttered wryly. “Why were you comparing me to a spider?”

“Not you specifically. The situation.”

The bush to their left shook violently and then a loud growl/barking noise echoed among the trees. A huge, black mass bounded from the greens and lunged at Dwalin with a snarl that made Ori clamp down on his tongue to hold back a shriek. Another smaller mess of brown hair lunged out at Ori and he swung his arms wildly to stop it from getting his face.

He managed to get his hands around the middle of the thing and held it away from his face. The creature gave a furious screech and clawed at his hands for all he was worth Dwalin was shouting as he tried to wrangle the bear.

“Tikhuzh!” A third creature emerged from the bush, covered in dirt, fur, leaves, and blood. Blue eyes stared at him and then went to Dwalin. They trailed over the dwarf’s features before settling on a bead that hung from his beard.

“Oshmâkh Melhekh?” The word was a bit rough, but it was very much khuzdul.

“Sa. Oshmâkh Melhekhu Erebor.” 

“Thorin Oakenshield.” The dirty child (it wasn’t more than two feet tall) stepped forward. “Men hiu.” He brought his hand across his face, pushing a few stray curls away and Ori's eyes followed the fingers. His hair had been braided back, away from his face in a familiar style. It was one that was used to describe a loved son. 

But that wasn't what caught his attention. The dwarvish braid on the unknown child that spoke khuzdul was not the most unusual thing. It was the bead that clasped the braid that drew his attention. His mouth popped open in surprise and the haze in his mind the forest created was cleared as shock shook his body.

The blue bead was one that he had grown up seeing. It was one that Fili wore. One that the King himself always braided in the dwarf prince's hair. 

The child stepped forward with eyes that were a more vibrant blue than any other he had ever seen. The dog let Dwalin go and went to his side while the creature that had attacked Ori (a cat) also stepped backwards. "My name is Frodo Baggins, and I need your help."

Who on earth was this boy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Khuzdul**  
>  Tikhuzh! =stop  
> Oshmâkh Melhekh = A guard of the king?  
> Sa. Oshmâkh Melhekhu Erebor. = Yes. A guard of the King of Erebor.  
> Men hiu. = I know where he is.


	11. Chapter 11

Thorin had Bilbo behind himself and his sword drawn before Bilbo could even fully recognize the loss of his touch. Beorn was forcibly keeping himself between Frodo and whatever was coming at them.

Bilbo dropped to the ground and scooped up a handful of stones at the waters edge. He saw Frodo doing the same out of the corner of his eyes. He widened his stance and cocked his hand back in preparation. The pack of supplies was several yards away, there would be no way to retrieve it without getting in the path of whatever was in the trees.

“Thrakuúl búrzum!” (Bring them to the darkness!) The foul, growled words bit through the air and darkened the sun. The wind blew cold around the trio and Thorin gripped the sword more firmly as orcs poured from the forest.

Poured. There were ever so many more than five.

“Beorn!” Thorin belted in a voice that demanded all attention. The dog turned his head to listen, still blocking Frodo. “Zatâgrîf Frodo mahshak Mirkwood!” The dark barked in response and stepped backwards. Sebastian jumped onto his back.

Frodo shouted. “No!”

“Zata wakundim!” (Go now!) Thorin barked in response. Frodo stood still for a long moment and Bilbo let a stone fly at the nearest Orc. It hit him in the head and he staggered to a stop. There were at least two dozen more around him though. Beorn growled in warning and Frodo moved. He scrambled onto the dog’s back beside the cat with a broken sob and the dog bolted off, across the stream and into the cover of the trees on the other side.

Bilbo could have sobbed in relief. He moved from behind Thorin and tossed another stone. The dwarf let out a battle cry and swung his sword as the enemy reached them. Bilbo swung his stones and kicked at whoever was near enough. Thorin fell the first orc and Bilbo retrieved his axe.

There would be no winning this fight, and Bilbo didn’t need to win it. He only needed to distract them long enough for Beorn to get Frodo away to safety.

He turned so that he was at Thorin’s side and swung his sword with abandon. He remembered the repetitive movements that Thorin had put them through every night and let his muscles recall the proper way to move. He didn’t see the battle as a whole, only the next orc to be defeated. He jabbed, and barely noticed when an orcish blade sliced his chained arm. The pain would come later.

Another parry and a quick stab through the join of armor under the arm. He kicked the body aside and tried not to focus on anything but the next axe. There was something bellowing in the background, and what might have been a howl, but it wasn’t the orc in front of him.

The fourth orc stomped on his foot and pain flashed through Bilbo’s entire body. He missed a block and the orc jabbed forward, stabbing him in the upper arm. A cry of pain fell from his lips that he was helpless to stop.

Thorin brought his sword hilt down on the orc he was fighting and the creature crumpled to the ground. He swung the blade wildly to the left and stabbed at the orc in front of Bilbo.

It was a mistake, and the final one they made. The orcs broke through his momentary drop of defense, and disarmed him. Pain soared through Bilbo’s body, making him dizzy, and then there was a dull thunk as something hit him in the back of the head. He lost his vision and fell against Thorin, and then he knew no more.

-[]-[]-[]-

“We have to stop meeting like this.”

Soft fingers were combing through Thorin’s hair, soothing his pounding head even as he woke. His body ached in a familiar way, and there was something hard digging into his back. His head was laying on something much softer though, which was pleasant in light of everything else.

“Not that I mind having you sleeping on me. I just don’t care for all the blood at each waking. I could use better company as well.”

Thorin forced his tired eyes open and was greeted with a blast of sunlight and searing pain in the back of his head. The fingers stilled their combing for a moment before resuming the simple strokes. “There you go. I knew you’d hear me.” He blinked uncomprehendingly at the blurs above him before everything finally slid into focus. Bilbo was smiling down at him. His curls were matted with blood and dirt, and his left eyes was swollen.

Thorin’s gaze dropped down to the rest of the hobbit, taking in his state. His shirt and vest were also bloody, and he was missing one sleeve entirely. He had a grey, coarse, material wrapped around his arm in a sort of bandage, and it was already bled through.

Right. The memories trickled back in.

“Easy,” Bilbo’s hands gripped his shoulder and made him remain still. He had not even noticed himself trying to rise. “You were hit very hard on the back of the head. Do you remember who I am?”

That was a ridiculous question. Thorin could not forget Bilbo. “Bilbo. Men melekunel ra baha. Serej bund hobbit.” (My hobbit and companion. Crazy hobbit.)

“Still considered quite clever in the Shire.” Bilbo responded. He resumed stroking Thorin’s locks. He was fairly certain the hobbit was not even aware of the action. “Stay still. They’re watching us right now. We’re prisoners at the moment. We were surrounded by nearly thirty orcs. We took out ten by the way, good job. They’ve tied us to a tree while they set up camp. We’re at the edge of High Pass. I think they’re headed towards Mount Gundabad.”

“Darûn men asleep?” (How long have I been asleep?)

Bilbo glanced up at whatever was happening in front of him. He tensed and held Thorin’s head still so he couldn’t move to see. He hated being confined and helpless. He could think past the pounding in his head. There was someone barking out orders a few feet away. Bilbo released a breath and relaxed.

“You’ve been out for most of the day. I don’t know how long it was before I woke up. They were ‘tending’ to my arm when I roused.”

“Az-”

“I was stabbed. You have a contusion on your arm as well. I’m fine. It will heal.” He swallowed and looked up with a glare. Footfalls sounded and then the sun was blocked out by a towering red and grey blur of orc.

“Silence! Or I’ll gut you, hobbit. We only need ‘im.”

Thorin growled low in his throat and tried to sit up again. Bilbo pushed him back down with a warning glare before looking up at the orc. “Of course.” The guard walked away with a swagger that made Thorin furious. Rage boiled low in his stomach and made him want to tear free.

“We have to be cordial until we can think of a plan. Neither of us are in a physical position for a beating.” Thorin blinked and the reason for the purple, green, and blue around Bilbo’s eyes became horribly clear. He had been hit. “Now I’m going to try and help you sit up so that you can see what is going on. Please don’t do anything rash yet.

Bilbo wrapped his uninjured arm around as much of Thorin as he could, being careful of the chain, and tugged him upright. His vision swam as he was tugged back to Bilbo’s side. He was propped up against the tree trunk and Bilbo’s shoulder.

He felt ill. The movement did nothing for his pounding head. He had a concussion for certain. He simply hoped it wasn’t too severe.

“Sanmuhud Bilbo.” (Thank you.) Bilbo simply nodded his head and reached into his pocket. He tugged the child book free and placed it in Thorin’s lap.

“They didn’t deem this dangerous or important enough to steal. We can still communicate.” A glance at the orcs revealed that they were more interested in their meal than their prisoners. He flipped the book open and tried to think of what to say. Frodo was not a safe subject. The hobbit was not with them so he had gotten away. He sent a silent prayer to Mahal to guard the halfling to safety. The elves of Mirkwood were finicky and prideful, but they would not turn a child away.

He had once again failed the two hobbits. He had not protected them, and they were now the prisoners of orcs because of that. And he had thought he might kiss Bilbo. He was not currently worthy of such things. He could not keep the hobbit safe and could not even return to his kingdom.

He might as well have struck the hobbit himself.

_Thank you._

Bilbo snorted and shook his head with a glance at the orcs. He smiled, sadly, and rested his head on Thorin’s shoulder. Despite the state of his hair, the curls were soft and the warmth of the hobbit’s skin was welcome.

“I didn’t even think about it until they made to grab it. I feigned indifference and they bought my act. I’m surprised they didn’t recognize how terrified I was. Am.”

Thorin had never wished for a sword so fervently before. _Nonsense. You were brave._

Bilbo’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Well that hardly makes sense. You can’t very well be brave unless you’re scared. Fear is what makes it _bravery_.”

They would need bravery.

-[]-[]-[]-

Orcs were notoriously rough on prisoners. The horror stories were not false, but they needed Thorin alive, and that made them weak. They couldn’t do the normal tortures.

They didn’t need Bilbo, and that made him weak. It was a terrible game of give and take. They manipulated him to do what they wanted by threatening Bilbo. Another bruise on the hobbit’s cheek joined the black eye by the end of his first day awake.

He would slaughter everyone of them.

The second day of traveling went far more slowly than the first had. The orcs moved as quietly as possible, seeming frightened of whatever was in the hills they were crossing.

“What are they trying to hide from?” Bilbo whispered as they marched through the woods. There were three orcs guarding them, and they now had their legs tied together as well. It would make running extremely different. Especially with their height differences. He would do better to simply carry the hobbit if it came to that.

 _There are legends of a great beast inhabiting this land._ Their captors clearly did not wish to awaken such things.

“A bear?” Bilbo’s eyes were wide and his mouth was forming a tiny O. Thorin frowned and nodded his head as they continued to march through the uneven land. “I never knew it was real. I thought it was just a story my dad used to tell.”

What was?

A snarl like a clap of thunder shook through the trees and a black mass of fur larger than Bilbo’s house dashed towards the orcs. It’s mouth opened and with a flash of teeth it tore into the throat of the nearest orc and tossed him aside, quite dead.

For a long moment everything was still. Thorin could neither inhale or exhale, and he was not quite certain how he remained standing as the terrible beast reared back on it’s paws to bellow at the air.

Screams and orders filled the air as the monster lunged for the next orc.

Then, like a hammer stroke, he realized it was their chance. There would be none better.

Thorin kicked out at the leg of the orc on his left and knocked him to his knees as the other two guards rushed forward to fight the massive beast. He immediately pressed forward and with a jerk of his arm looped the enchanted chain around the enemies throat. He pulled the chain tight and pressed his foot into the orc’s back while he pulled the chain. It squeezed around the orc’s neck making him hack violently for air.

No one noticed. Thorin tugged harder and pushed with his leg, making the orc gargle for air before he finally slumped forward and still. Thorin unlooped the chain, grabbed the fallen enemies weapon, and grabbed Bilbo’s hand. He tugged the shocked hobbit near and stepped back. The giant beast of a bear continued to savage the orc pack.

“Ubzûna!” He didn’t wait for Bilbo to understand before he turned around and tugged him after him. He ran as well as he could into the hills, ignoring the fierce ache in his chest and trying to ignore the quiet, pained gasps Bilbo made as they bolted. Mirkwood loomed in the distance, impossibly far away and impossibly vital to reach. Bilbo stumbled and fell to the ground with a muffled cry.

Thorin paused just long enough to haul him back up and drape him over his shoulder in the dead man carry. Bilbo made a protest but Thorin ignored it. They had to reach the cover of the trees.

He ran without knowing at all how he managed, until there were trees on all sides. He finally drew to a stop and let Bilbo slip from his shoulder before dropping to the ground and using the knife to cut the rope binding their legs together.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a plan? I would have prepared myself to run.” Bilbo hissed as he batted a low hanging branch aside. The air was too heavy to be natural, and a sickly sweet smell filled the air. Like rotting fruit. It turned Thorin’s stomach and made him feel a little dizzy. His chest ached from the wound that refused to heal at anything other than a slow pace, and his legs burned.

They still had to go further. There would be no time for rest. “Men ayatashfab.” (I did!)

“No you didn’t!” Of all the ridiculous things. The halflings was acting ingrateful for a rescue! Thorin had done what he could.

“Ma aglâb oshând!” (Clearly we can’t communicate!) Thorin nearly snarled before pushing Bilbo deeper into the forest. He had caused Bilbo so much harm. This was fully his fault. Frodo was Mahal only knew where, and they were injured and lost in a treacherous forest.

“We can’t communicate?” Bilbo snapped back. He grabbed Thorin’s face and dragged him down until they were eye to eye. His breath was warm and moist across his face and Thorin didn’t have the time to register what was happening before a pair of lips were on his. Bilbo kissed him fiercely, with pent up frustration and lust and a longing that Thorin was helpless to do anything but respond to. He gripped Bilbo’s waist with his right hand and his arm with his left hand.

“How’s that for communicating?” Bilbo mumbled against his mouth. His eyes were brighter than Thorin had ever seen and filled with a determination that Thorin cherished.

And then Thorin once again found himself being very thoroughly kissed. 

Bilbo kissed Thorin, his left palm braced against the dwarf's chest and the other weaving it's way further into his hair. His mouth was warm and urgent and strangely comfortable.  As if he'd done it a hundred thousand times before, and intended to do it a hundred thousand more. He wasn't as out of breath as Thorin, but he was no less determined to reach the same state. When he finally pulled back to breath, he pressed his face against Thorin's cheek and the feel of his smile made Thorin feel more alive than he'd felt since he woke up in a garden what seemed a life time ago.


	12. Chapter 12

They really could not stay still. They needed to flee the area as quickly as possible lest they be caught. Thorin wasn’t certain what the bear had been, only that it had hated the orcs. They were not guaranteed to receive any better of a reception from it.

He would not lose Bilbo. Especially not now. There were endless possibilities spread out before him and they all made him dizzy.

He had to reach his home first. He had to resume his throne and wipe out whatever it was that was trying to threaten them. Once he had his crown again he would shower Bilbo in gems and silks. All in Middle Earth would know the incredible Hobbit’s worth. He would gift him a bead of royal friendship and hopefully a ring of courtship.

He would not let Bilbo go. Not now.

“Oh Valar!” Bilbo gasped, breaking away from Thorin with wide, vibrant green, eyes. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t-”

Thorin tugged him nearer by his hip and pressed another kiss to his lip. He kept it gentle and nearly chaste. They really didn’t have time. Regardless of how much he actually wished to. He just needed to reassure the hobbit.

“Men Bilbo,” he murmured, pulling away and resting his forehead against Bilbo’s. “Men zatazâyung zu, Bilbo.” (My Bilbo. I cherish you, Bilbo.) Bilbo blinked up at him, a soft smile spreading across his lips.

“I have no idea what that means, but it sounds like the perfect sentiment.”

He was taking too long. They needed to leave.

He took a step back and grasped Bilbo’s hand. His heart was hammering and he felt slightly dizzy. It might have been caused by his ribs but he wasn’t certain.

Bilbo, blushing an appealing red, shook his head. “Right. We umm, need to…” Thorin took another step back, pulling Bilbo with him. Bilbo joined his side and they sprinted into the forest together.

Bilbo limped from his injured toes, and his arm looked horrible.They needed to find a stream or something to clean up in. They would be safer in the woods than the fields as Orcs hated trees. There was still something not quite right about the air in the forest. It was too thick and made running difficult.

Their first priority was to get deeper into the woods. Then they needed to look for any sign of Frodo. Thorin had no doubt that Beorn would keep him safe (at the cost of his own life certainly) and that the elves would not let him suffer if they found him, but he’d rather the hobbit not be left wandering the woods.

He had no idea where to look for him. Frodo might be safer on his own as well. Thorin was being chased by all manner of evil.

They found a stream after two hours of travel and Thorin made the decision to bathe. There was no sign of perusal and they had only a few hours of sunlight left. Enough time to dry and find a safe place to rest and tend their wounds.

“Oh,” Bilbo breathed when he saw the creek, “that’s a lovely sight.” He wiggled his uninjured toes against the grass and scooted closer to the water’s edge. Thorin laid the sword on the grass along with his boots, belt, braies, and jewelry. Bilbo did the same and Thorin realized he could look.

Bilbo certainly was.

It was as if a dam had been opened for the hobbit. His hand stayed firmly intertwined with Thorin’s and any time they paused he ran his fingers along Thorin’s hair or cupped his cheek. He didn’t necessarily try and kiss him, and certainly not anything more, but he seemed quite content to simply… touch. Hobbit’s were apparently quite affectionate.

Thorin had no complaints.

Right now Bilbo’s gaze was heavy on him, taking in his calves and trailing up to where his tunic hung to mid thigh. He continued to look further up, studying his chest and throat with a lazy smile.

Bilbo’s body would be thoroughly enticing whenever he fully managed to unclothe him. What he could see through the tattered remains of a shirt and vest looked pleasant. There was a softness to Bilbo’s skin that encouraged touch, and a wonderful smallness that made Thorin want to lift him.

The many injuries on Bilbo made his desire all but diminish. He wished to sweep Bilbo away and surround him with cotton so that nothing could harm him again.

He had not been aware of the depths of his feelings for the hobbit. He had not truly allowed himself to look. They went ever so much deeper than he had been prepared for.

The stream was refreshingly cool and felt as a balm on a summer day. It relaxed his muscles and rinsed away the grime of the imprisonment. He was covered in dirt and blood and it felt like he was in valinor to simply be allowed to rinse it off.

Bilbo practically purred at his side. He dunked under to clean off his curls and scrubbed vigorously at what he could reach of his chest. There were bruises Thorin had not seen before.

“Bilbo,” He moved through the water to get nearer and BIlbo looked up at him curiously. His curls plastered to his face, decorating his freckled skin and sunburnt nose with little trails of water. “Sugùl?” (what) He trailed his fingertips just above the skin, not letting himself touch the bruised skin. They were low on his stomach and trailed down to where his smalls covered. Horror bubbled beneath his skin and mingled with a swift, hot rage.

He would track the orcs down if they had harmed Bilbo in such a way. He would murder them and then he would see Bilbo returned the Shire with enough that he would never want for anything again. He would set a permanent guard on Bilbo and Frodo and stay as far away as possible.

He brought nothing but pain.

“Oh. That. The orcs were not the friendliest hosts. They were not very happy that I kept so near you.” He shrugged dismissively and tried to smile as though it was nothing important. “It’s fine.”

“Az narakmahabrûf zu?” (Did they rape you) Bilbo frowned, his brow drawing together in confusion. Curse his useless tongue!

“I’m not certain what that means. But… don’t, um, worry. They just kicked. I-nothing -er-happened.” He swallowed and turned his head, looking down at the water that came up to their waists. “They were frightened. They didn’t want to anger you less you did something rash.” He swallowed again and glanced at Thorin before flushing. “Even unconscious you managed to protect me.”

Bilbo moved his hand off his injured chest and wrapped his own arms around Thorin’s chest.

-[]-[]-[]-

Panic was a very strange thing. So was adrenaline. They could heighten each other terribly, or negate each other.

Bilbo had been moving off adrenaline all day. It had seen him running after Thorin and straight into kissing the dwarf. It had pushed everything else but following Thorin and ignoring pain away.

Now that the sun had set and the stars were high in the night sky, adrenaline was fading away and panic was beginning to make itself known. It was a tangle of anxieties that swirled in his mind. A complicated pile of thoughts that wound and knotted together making it difficult to sort through what he was feeling.

Thorin was sitting at his side, almost dozing, while Bilbo prepared a simple salve for his wounds. The simple motions were something he had done many times in his life, and allowed him to try and sort through everything.

Hobbit’s were not meant for this sort of life. That was obvious. He wished to simply be someplace (the Shire or Erebor, either seemed appealing.) and to be done with all the running. He wasn’t accustomed to having to react so much, or think so quickly in dire situations. He Kept feeling as if he was going to burst from panic at night.

And now there was Frodo. The fauntling was his son, even if he wasn’t born to him. He loved him more than his own life, and the thought of him racing through the wild left him breathless and shaky. He couldn’t dwell on those thoughts. There was nothing he could do to make it better. Beorn would protect him.

“Sanmuhud.”(Thank You) Thorin’s deep voice washed over Bilbo and brought him back to the present. He had spread the salve over most of the dwarf’s injuries, and there was just the one on his chest left. Thorin had his hand out to receive the salve but Bilbo shook his head. He scooped up a bit more of the slightly sticky substance off the leaf he had mixed it up on and painted it onto the bruised skin. Thorin stilled under his administrations and his eyes slipped shut.

It was odd. Having such an obvious effect on the dwarf.

He finished with the last touches and kept his hand pressed against Thorin’s warm side. The terrible buzz of his thoughts seemed to recede to a quiet hum. Manageable and no longer overwhelming.

“Bilbo?” He lifted his gaze to meet Thorin’s and found himself getting lost in the pale depths of Thorin’s eyes. He was pulled closer, the salve forgotten, and embraced by the strong, warm arms that seemed to promise everything would be well again.

Thorin’s fur coat (and how he still had the thing, Bilbo would never understand) was all that they had to keep warm. Thorin wrapped it around them as well as he could, holding Bilbo impossibly close. They laid on their sides, with their chained hands on the bottom so that their unhindered hands would be ready to defend. Thorin didn’t say as much out loud, but Bilbo understood it for what it was.

His back was to Thorin’s chest, and he was focusing on not pressing too far back so as not to aggravate the obvious bruises and still healing wounds.  

Their sword was placed in front of Bilbo so that it could be retrieved at a moment’s notice. The edge flashed in the dark night, reflecting what little light there was to be had.

Thorin pulled Bilbo as close as he could, and wrapped his free arm around his waist. It was warm and heavy, and felt oddly right. It didn’t replace the empty ache of not having Frodo near, but it softened the edges of the pain. They fit well together. Bilbo’s head rested just below Thorin’s chin and he could feel the dwarf nuzzling his curls silently. A kiss was pressed to the top of his head as Thorin’s fingers found his and twined them together. It felt natural.

Thorin’s scent surrounded him. It no longer was tainted by blood and dirt. Thanks to the stream.

He wasn’t sure where they went from here, or what they had started, but he was content with it at the moment. Being held close with Thorin’s breath against him, it was enough for now. Their future was uncertain, and full of an unknown danger. Not something he actively thought about. The here and now was far too dangerous to be overly concerned with the future.

It would work itself out. It would have to be enough to know that Thorin cared.

-[]-[]-[]-

Frodo was a hobbit from a place just outside of Bree. His father (Bilbo Baggins) had raised him there with the giant dog (Beorn) and the grumpy cat (Sebastian.)

That wasn’t extremely exciting. It was odd to find two Hobbits that didn’t live in the Shire, but it wasn’t life changing or particularly noteworthy.

What was worth noting, they found out in front of a fire when they gave Frodo a warm meal. The tiny fauntling tore into the meat with a relish that only those who have been without food for a while can truly master. The dog ate his own share, while the cat nibbled delicately at a fish he had caught.

They were quite the trio. Ori wasn’t certain what to make of them, and Dwalin was utterly restless at his side. The dwarf was near, as they had taken to sitting near to each other in case of danger, and he was practically vibrating with questions.

Why did a hobbit know Khuzdul?

“Thank you,” Frodo mumbled around a mouthful. He swallowed thickly and Dwalin offered him a cup of water, which he took happily. The dwarf was keeping quiet because it was obvious the fauntling found him a little intimidating.

Ori could hardly blame him. Dwalin was a berserker dwarf, and he gave off an air of ‘I can and will squash you if you’re annoying.’

He’d grown used to it the week of their travel. Dwalin was surprisingly smarter than he seemed.

“My da found him in our garden.” Frodo finally said. He swallowed thickly and wiped his mouth before looking back up at Ori. “He was barely awake and really injured. There was a giant wing in our yard and it scared da.”

“What bird was it?”

Frodo shrugged and leaned back on Beorn. “I don’t know for sure. It was just a wing. The rest of it was missing. It was black and leathery?” He shrugged again and started playing with the hem of his tunic. “My da reached to help him and a light surrounded their hands. Next thing I knew they were chained together. Da got him inside and tended to his wounds. He couldn’t speak common.”

“Chained?”

Frodo nodded and grabbed his wrist. “They both got cuffs that just appeared with a chain connecting them. Thorin couldn’t break it. Orcs attacked our home and Thorin led us away. We were headed towards Erebor.”

Ori was finding it difficult to believe, and a little hard to breathe. “He mentioned a curse? I think… We fought rock giants and then orcs came. They sent me away.” He lifted his head and caught Ori’s eyes. The vibrant blue were breathtaking. “They’re going to need help.”

“Then I suggest you rest.” Dwalin said. His voice was a rough tone that made Frodo instantly pay attention. “We will need you ready to leave at first light.” He turned his head and smiled at Ori with a warrior’s abandon. “We’re going to hunt some orc.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I made a map in paint to help you all understand who was where. :)

 

 

The sun was setting in the distance, it’s warm rays barely seeable through the thick forest. The heat of the day was all but gone, and the wind brought whispers of madness with it as it blew through the swaying branches.

Bilbo was growing used to the murmuring of the woods. They were not quite sane, and they seemed to call a sickness to themselves. The forest was ill, and determined to spread it’s misery to all who passed through them.

Or perhaps Elves breathed differently than other creatures in Middle Earth. Bilbo couldn’t imagine any other way the race could survive in the horrid forest.

It had been days, Bilbo didn’t know how many, and they couldn’t find any trace of Frodo. He wasn’t even certain they were headed towards the woods exit.

It all looked the same to him. He could spot useful herbs and the like, but Thorin was apparently trained to track. He investigated the fallen foliage with keen eyes and lead the way forward with little hesitation.

It was starting to get dark with the first hints of night when the tall dwarf froze in his tracks. He held up a hand to still Bilbo and looped the chain around his hand to still its jangling. Bilbo stopped, trying to breath as quietly as possible.

Thorin’s frown broadened and he took a step back. His pale eyes scanned their surroundings before lighting on a tree. He wound the chain around his hand more and clasped Bilbo’s hand. He tugged the hobbit after him and made for the tree and the foliage that surrounded it. He unwound the chain and crouched before motioning for Bilbo to do the same.

Thorin settled low and gripped the sword with practiced hands. He motioned for Bilbo to be silent, needlessly. Bilbo gripped his own club firmly, hoping it would last long enough to beat a few orcs. Fleeing was really their best option. He simply hoped that whoever was coming didn’t surround them. Surprise would be their only aid in that case. Fighting stances flitted through his mind, along with odd bits of stories and memories of pretending to hunt dragons when he was a fauntling.

He had been in two battles since he met Thorin. It was so very different from the stories he remembered. It was heat, and blood, and fear, and tunnel focus. He was only ever aware of the next orc directly in front of him. He didn’t really see the battle as a whole, just individual fights that he had to win.

“Mahimish. (Make ready.)” Thorin said with barely a breath. The saplings and shrubs rustled once more, and then five figures burst through them with drawn weapons. Three axes, a slingshot, and a war hammer were all cocked and ready to strike. Bilbo squeaked in shock and ducked further back into their hiding place as a bear followed the shouting, leaf covered, creatures.

Thorin shot up right with a shout and surged forward causing Bilbo to scramble after him. His sword hung limply in his hand, utterly forgotten.

Friends?

“Men ubaha! (Dearest friend) Uduon ben zuin, Dwalin? (How are you here)

The largest mass that wasn’t black stopped in it’s track. The slightly smaller figure stopped by his side as Bilbo stepped out from behind the dwarf’s shadow and tried to understand.

“Ori,” Thorin continued, his expression was bright, and he looked years younger. “Mahal umhûd zu sananakgh (Aule bless you for your perfect timing.) Thorin clearly knew who they were. Bilbo was unsure if he should be glad or paranoid.

“Thorin!” The tiniest figure called, and Bilbo dropped to his knees in shock and gratitude at the voice. The fauntling shot forward and wrapped his arms around Bilbo’s neck, and the hobbit promptly stood, cradling the precious child as close as he could. Small legs wrapped around his waist and he tried not to tremble as he clutched Frodo. Beorn came over and snuffled him, ruffling his hair with his large tongue while Sebastian wound his way around Bilbo’s legs with a deep purr.

He lost track of everything that wasn’t the warm, dirty, hobbit in his arms. He didn’t care who the other two were, only that Frodo was well and unhurt. He was mumbling something, thank you perhaps, or worry for Frodo, but he couldn’t even understand himself.

Thorin had his arm extended towards Bilbo so that Bilbo could wrap his arms around the fauntling without worrying about the chain. It took him several moments to realize that the dwarf was stroking the soft, brown, curls as well.

“He is very brave.” Bilbo’s ears finally caught on to the conversation and he lifted his head to see the gingery haired dwarf (how he hadn’t recognized them as dwarves, Bilbo didn’t know.) staring at Frodo with a soft smile. He lifted his gaze and met Bilbo’s. He looked young, perhaps just of age. Bilbo knew that Dwarves aged far slower than hobbits. Thorin was well over 150 and was just about middle aged.

“Thank you,”

“That’s Ori.” Frodo piped up. He pulled his face from Bilbo’s neck, and he didn’t point out the tear tracks on the small cheeks. “Ori, this is my dad.”

“Bilbo Baggins. Forever at your service.” He bowed, still clutching Frodo a little too tightly.”

“Bilbo men… buhûn (Bilbo is my… friend.) Thorin said after a moment. He glanced at the other dwarf. “Bilbo, Dwalin. Dwalin men shomack ra buhûn.” (Dwalin is my guard and friend.)

“Pleasure.” Bilbo said with a smile. It felt a little surreal to be in the middle of Mirkwood, chained, cursed, and hunted, yet still be taking the time for introductions. He appreciated the properness, even if it did seem silly.

“Tell us everything.” Dwalin said without hesitation. “We have news that needs sharing as well.” He glanced at Bilbo before locking gazes with Thorin. “The north moves on Erebor even as we speak.”

Thorin turned his head to look at Bilbo, and the hobbit simply shrugged. He wasn’t going to summarize their ridiculous time. He had Frodo back. For at least a few moments, everything else was unimportant.

-[]-[]-[]-

Thorin was holding his right hand and Frodo was sitting in his lap. He had his left arm wrapped around the snoozing fauntling, and they were all trying to figure out what they’re next step was.

Dwalin and Ori brought disturbing news. They had seen a party of creatures making for the royal city. They were lead by what Dwalin believed to be wraiths.

And there were still the orcs chasing them to consider.

“What was the name of the… being that the elves were hailing?” Thorin’s thumb was brushing along the back of his hand in an absent way that was distracting. Neither of the dwarves were saying anything about the fact that their king was holding hands with a hobbit. Bilbo was impressed.

And worried. Was it something that happened a lot? Or was it a dwarf thing? Surely finding their king interested in someone was worth noting.

Erebor was a few hundred miles away, a few days journey with the ponies that Dwalin and Ori had. Thorin and Dwalin could ride on one pony, Bilbo could ride with Ori, and Dwalin would take the remaining pony. They had enough weapons to arm Thorin and Bilbo properly. Frodo was wielding Ori’s slingshot, and Dwalin was letting the younger dwarf (who was a scribe of all things) use his war hammer. Dwalin had brought Thorin a beautiful war sword that gleamed with starlight even in the day. They found a small sword for Bilbo that was of a similar make.

The plan was to head for Erebor at first light. They would return Thorin to his throne and decide what to do from there.

An army was apparently massing.

Erebor also didn’t promise a solution to their problem with the chain, or the fact that Thorin could only speak khuzdul.

Which, thank Yavanna, both dwarves spoke.

“Bauglir.” Ori said, his voice soft. He was sitting by Dwalin’s side with Beorn curled around his back. The dog had taken quite a shining to Dwalin. Sebastian was settled down on Ori’s lap and was purring softly as the dwarf scratched behind his ears.

Bilbo’s brow furrowed in thought. He had heard that name before. In a story perhaps? It was something dark. It made a dark, unpleasant feeling rise in his stomach. The name had bad connotations.

“Mizim?” Bilbo tilted his head to look up at Thorin and noticed Dwalin’s eyes widen and Ori glance at the warrior dwarf. What was it? Did Mizim mean something horrible? It was what Thorin had taken to calling him since Frodo’s disappearance.

“I’ve heard the name before. I can’t recall quite where though. I’ll think about it.”

“We can decide nothing more tonight. Sleep now. We should head for Erebor at first light. “

“Mâ omabijab alanjaz (we can’t decide tonight). Mâ serêj ana Erebor zel lukhudaz. (we leave for erebor at first light.)”

Dwalin and Ori nodded their heads. Dwalin declared he would take first watch and they settled down for sleep. Ori laid by himself with Sebastian curled around his head. Beorn stood guard with Dwalin.

Thorin laid down and motioned for Bilbo to join him. The hobbit carefully placed Frodo beside Thorin, and then laid down himself so that he was between them. Thorin draped the unchained hand over Bilbo’s back and pulled him close. Frodo’s breath blew against his neck in warm puff’s as his eyes slipped close. The next day would be dangerous, horribly so, but Bilbo was too tired to stay awake.

He fell asleep to the sound of Frodo and Ori’s snore, and the feel of Thorin rubbing his hand up and down Bilbo’s spine.

-[]-[]-[]-

He could see the Lonely Mountain. She stood out like a spear of steel in the land, the dawn silhouetting her in purple, pink, and golden light. She was the most beautiful thing in Middle Earth.

A painful ache that Thorin had bore for hundreds of miles, and endless months, rose up in his chest at the sight of his home. He was so close.

It was everything he missed. His family, security, peace of mind, a thousand things that couldn’t really be verbalized. A well of emotions and hopes caused a lump to form in his throat that no amount of swallowing shrunk.

“Is that Erebor?” Bilbo’s voice was quiet, barely breaking the silence as they rode.

“Sa.” His voice gave far too much away, but he could trust it with Bilbo. The hobbit would not judge or condemn him.

“She is beautiful. How long has it been?”

 _October_.

Bilbo gasped and twisted his torso and head so he could look up at Thorin. The dwarf kept his eyes ahead. He couldn’t meet the hobbit’s gaze. Not on this. He could not be compromised now. Reaching Erebor would not be easy, and it would almost certainly lead to war. Whoever had tried to kill him had reached the kingdom. Possibly the very throne.

There would be no time for enjoying his home. He would have to focus on leading. On ridding his beloved mountain of whatever foul monstrosity had found its way into her halls.

Only when she secure and his people safe would he rest.

“Its a three day journey to the other side?”

“Sa, Mizim.” Bilbo shuffled against him, his warm curls brushing against Thorin’s throat. He would knight the hobbit when they arrived. He would be given a high status so that everyone would know his worth. He would clothe him in the finest fabrics and the most costly jewels.

He only hoped they could cure whatever the curse was. He adored his natural language but it was infuriating to be unable to communicate.

“Do you think we’ll reach it?” His hobbit’s eyes drifted to Ori’s back where Frodo was riding. Guilt made its presence known in Thorin’s chest. Again. It was an emotion that was never very far away.

“Sa. Ma ‘arukh ma ready.” (Yes. We will need to make ready.) Izd ashmukal belk obuhûn. (our greetin(might not be friendly.)” He didn’t speak the question burning in his gut. What will you do when you are free?

He had to focus on reaching his mountain. On learning what all was happening, and how to stop it.

Bauglir, whoever he was, would not have his mountain.


	14. Chapter 14

“They are marching on us.”

Balin stated the six words in an ordinary tone. As though it were any other fact of mild importance. It might have been an observation of the budget for how calm he was.

If he hadn’t been standing on the battlements Fíli probably would not have noticed Balin even said anything.

As was, it was a fairly pointless observation. Fíli could see the army coming towards the kingdom. They were a mostly dark blotch on the horizon, but it was a _moving_ dark blotch. One that was heading towards them. Towards Erebor.

Scouts said an army of at least ten thousand.

“Have the ravens been sent?” Kíli moved closer at his side. A silent search for comfort that was about as much as they were allowed since they were children. Royalty did not seek aid and did not show weakness. They were not allowed to. They had to lead countless dwarves, they could not appear to be anything less than confident and determined.

“This morning.”

“Responses?”

“Not yet.” Fíli nodded his head and turned away from the approaching army. “Send word to Dale to arm themselves. I will make certain the guard is made ready. Keep the gates open for anyone retreating.” He stepped down from the ledge and turned his gaze on his younger brother. He appeared unaffected to anyone but those who loved him most. Fíli could see the well disguised fear in his eyes.

“Kíli, inform King Thranduil of the development. Let him know we will escort him back to his kingdom if he desires. He is welcome to remain, it will likely be dangerous either way.” Kíli nodded his head and stepped back. Fíli grabbed his arm before he could leave. “Try and convince them to send help?”

Kíli nodded again and turned. He ran down the steps with his cloak flying behind him. Fíli started after him at a more regal pace. Thorin always said that running gave the appearance of a lack of control. He needed to appear very in control right now. “Walk with me, Balin.” The older dwarf fell into step with him. “Have you any more news from Rivendell?”

“I-” He trailed off as another pair of footfalls sounded.

Dori was panting in front of them a moment later, Nori on his tail. They both had ravens and notes in their hands. “”Milord,” Dori gasped with a bow. Nori, as usual, didn’t bother with pleasantries.

“I have news from the family Ur!”

“What?”

“And I’ve news from Dain.”

“What news, Nori?” Balin asked. There was a half wild look in his eyes. Fíli’s own stomach was churning with curiosity and worry and something akin to panic, but it was for his family. He couldn’t put his family over the kingdom. He had to protect Erebor first.

“Dori, what of Dain.”

“He has sent nearly a thousand dwarves to our aid.” That would not be enough. Not nearly enough for such a vast army. They would need to call upon the Grey hills as well. Thranduil had to send aid. They could stay safe in their fortress for months, but they would eventually be starved out.

“When are they to arrive?”

“The day after tomorrow.” Dori answered dutifully. Balin twitched uneasily at his side.

“Send word to the Grey hills. Call them to their duty as well.”

“As Thorin?” Dori asked delicately. Fíli paused and slowly shook his head.

“No. Tell them that Fíli, Dísson, heir to the throne of Erebor and wielder of the Arkenstone calls for their aid.” He swallowed and squared his shoulder. “We will lie no longer. They are bound by oaths to attend us. It is time for them to honor those vows.” Fíli held Balin’s gaze unflinchingly. He felt certain, scared and unprepared for the role of leading the entirety of Erebor, but certain. This was what he was born to do. It was the gift, and curse, of his blood line. To be born to royalty was to be born to duty.

“Yes, Milord.” Dori bowed and retreated.

“You may speak, Nori.”

“The guards have found their way to Rivendell. They were captured by orcs three days ride from the elven kingdom. Thorin was taken by a fell beast and they know not where he is.”

“So the fallen creature near Bree was the one that took him?”

“It would seem.” Nori shook his head in distraction. “There was a dwarf and two hobbits spotted in the town not long after the fell beast’s discovery.

“Do you think-” Balin started.

“It doesn’t matter right now. We still know nothing. Nori, tell Gloin to keep Bofur, Bombur, and Bifur from speaking to anyone. Have them return home as soon as possible.” He continued walking down the corridor. He had to meet with the heads of the army. With Dwalin gone, he would have to talk with Fraín. He would need whatever warriors he could get back. “We’ve a war to prepare for.”

“You’ve heard his highness. Set out.” Balin fell instep with Fíli and he tried not to show his surprise and unease.

“Highness?” He’d never been called by any title with Balin.

“Indeed, Sire. I foresee a fine king. I’m sorry you had to first be tested in this way.”

There was a lot to be sorry about.

-[]-[]-[]-

Erebor was, for all intents and purposes, _huge_. Unbelievably so. It spread out for miles and miles. A single mountain peak that didn’t let its solitary status make it appear any less impressive.

Frodo gaped at it for a solid ten minutes, and Bilbo barely managed not to. They’d made it through the human cities without being spotted. Thorin and Dwalin were experts at not being seen.

Ori was very friendly, if a little shy. He got along well with Frodo, who had taken to the dwarf’s bookish nature with a smile and request for stories. Dwalin was far more quiet and brooding. He spoke to Thorin and Ori, and occasionally Frodo, but he mostly stared at Bilbo. His gaze was a heavy thing, a weight that he could feel whenever present. He didn’t know _why_ he had earned the dwarf’s stare but it made him uncomfortable and very self-conscious.

Thorin’s gaze was far more welcome, of course. It was gentle, warm, and constant. Any time they paused or the way forward was straight enough, Thorin’s gaze would find him. The guilt in it made Bilbo want to hug the dwarf. He didn’t think Thorin had much to be guilty for.

Bilbo would have revelled in the stare and the quickly approaching kingdom, but they were not the only ones approaching the mountain.

There was an army amassing from the northern side.

They were a day from the beautiful kingdom. The stars were bright and it seemed to happy to be accurate for what was going to happen.

Thorin had him wrapped up close. His strong arms were around Bilbo’s chest, tugging him back to the dwarf’s built chest. The fur was wrapped around them and Frodo was snuggled in his own arms. He could feel Thorin’s chest expanding with breath against his back and the steady rhythm of his snoring had rocked the hobbit to sleep.

The comfort of his sleeping position did _not_ follow him to his dreams.

He was standing on the mountain. At what was probably the battlements, overlooking the kingdom below him. A terrible battle was waging. Shouts filled the valley below and the smell of smoke and blood coated the air. Bodies littered the ground and they were primarily dwarven bodies.

Erebor was losing.

His eyes scanned the horrid carnage, it made his skin crawl and his stomach churn. He wanted to be sick at the sight of the dying dwarves. Then he saw the one dwarf he did not want fighting.

Thorin stood in the middle of the battle. His armor shone in the night like starlight, flashing with each strike. He wielded his curved blade with strong swings and confidence that Bilbo envied. Foes were laying about his feet in piles. (He couldn’t make out _what_ they were, exactly, only that they were dark and shadowy.) He was in a berserker rage and it was impressive, and terrible, to watch. He wanted to look away for fear of Thorin’s life, but he couldn’t.

Another foe fell before Thorin’s fury, and then a shadow emerged from the fallen enemies. It swirled around the valley, gaining volume until came to float in front of Thorin. It looked like smoke, shapeless and curling in a black mass. Thorin lifted his sword with a shout and charged forward.

Bilbo knew in his very soul what was going to happen before it actually did. A terrible pain ripped through his body and a shout rose in his throat as Thorin tried to bring his sword around. His chest tightened, his throat burned, and his knees gave out. The swirling darkness swept down and around Thorin, encapturing him in its shadow. He tried to breath, to see, but it was in vain. A scream echoed through the valley unlike anything he’d ever heard. It was death.

The shadow retracted, evaporating into the air, and Thorin lay on the ground. He stared at the ceiling unseeingly, still and silent. He was dead.

“See, halfling? This is the power of shadow.” A raspy voice that sounded ancient and dusty whispered around Bilbo. He jerked around, trying to stand up again. The ground was dry under his hands, crumbling at any touch. He couldn’t rise. “See my might? None can defeat me. None can withstand me. The dwarf will fall, and Erebor shall be mine. I shall have the stone I seek, and I shall rise again.”

Biblo twisted around, sucking air through his mouth as hard as he could but it didn’t matter. It made no difference. Thorin was dead behind him and it felt as though his own heart was being torn out of his chest.

A tall elf stood behind him. It had black hair, glossy and straight that was pulled back into a complicated braid. A silver crown sat upon his head with two bright gems. A third placing was made, but its gem was missing. His skin was pale as moonlight and his eyes were darker than obsidian. They were lightless voids that would have made Bilbo feel cold to look at. If he had not already felt frozen, that was.

There was something wrong with him. He wavered in and out of focus, almost as if he wasn’t really there.

“I will destroy all, and claim what is mine. There will be no life, only death.” The elf-like creature stepped towards Bilbo, and the mountain shook under his feet. “Run, halfling. Run and despair.”

“Bilbo!” He awoke with a strangled cry that was muffled into Frodo’s curls. The fauntling was still asleep and warm in his arms. He was with the other dwarves. They were at the foot of the mountain. There was no evil.

Thorin’s hand drifted over his face, tracing the contours of his cheek as he peered down at him. Bilbo gasped in more air, and tried not to shake. The terrible cold was still filling him up. His chest ached from the pain of Thorin’s loss, and simply seeing the dwarf looking down at him was not enough to be sure of him.

Not nearly enough.

He wrapped his arm around Thorin’s neck and tugged him down. He held him to his chest, and Thorin, Yavanna bless him, allowed himself to be held. Dwalin was fast asleep, and Ori was on watch. He kindly kept his back to them to allow privacy.

“Khama, Bilbo?” (What?) Thorin stroked his shoulder and wrapped his arm around Bilbo. He was strong,and warm. Solid. Real. _Alive_.

“I-I know who Bauglir is.”

“Mizim?” Thorin held him close, safe. He wasn’t dead. The dream or vision (he prayed it was a dream) had not been true. Thorin wasn’t dead and the kingdom wasn’t being slaughtered.

“The tales… That’s why I knew the name. When, um, when I was little my father would tell me old stories that he would hear from traders.” Thorin settled beside him. He draped the blanket back over him and Frodo. It was a wonderful comfort. “One of the traders was from the north. He spoke of a dark lord that had been vanquished. He… The story said that he could rise again, from shadow and wind, to take over the world.”

“Dushín…” The word was barely a whisper, but it sent a shiver down Bilbo and a chill that the blanket and furnace of a dwarf did not rid.  “Dushín tanak.” (Shadow comes.)


	15. Chapter 15

“What did you mean Shadow is coming?”

The sun was bright, warming up the chilled mountain with its rays. Thorin had refused to discuss the matter any further in the dark. He’d held Bilbo close until he’d fallen asleep, and kept a vigil over him while he’d slumbered. He’d woken up to the dwarf’s silent gaze, still held close. He was carrying a conversation on with Frodo about dragons.

“Dushín ra baghudâlh.” (Shadow and wind.) They were on foot. It was easiest to travel that way and remain unseen. “Zata khazad klut galab nablr (all dwarves hear the warnings). Mâ klut kigh mâ mairimish oana sudel of old. (We know it so we can make readyagainst the greatest danger.)”

“Yes,” Ori agreed. Dwalin helped him up a particularly stiff rock while Bilbo hefted Frodo onto his hip. “We’re all told stories about Dushín. I thought they were just that… Stories.”

“This is dark tidings indeed, if the halfling is correct.” Dwalin offered Bilbo a hand, and with his pull, and Thorin pushing from behind, he made it up the cliff. Thorin followed behind him and kept a light hand on his back.

“If Dushín is real, then will he be after the stone?”

“What?”

“Sa. Dushín kukhín ul Arkenstone.”  (Yes, he will seek the arkenstone.)

“The Arkenstone is one of three similar stones.” Ori explained patiently. “It was believed that the other two were destroyed.”

“So the Arkenstone could be what was missing on the crown I saw in my dream? The Shadow was going to steal it from you?”

“Regain it. He used to bear it but it was removed from his crown when he was destroyed.”

“If he was destroyed how is he back?” Frodo asked with a twist of his head to see Ori. He hated being carried but they couldn’t have him slipping about.

“That is the question.”

“Arkenstone ularukh shomack(the arkenstone will need protection.) Mâ will in secret.(we will.)”

Thorin paused in his gait. It was barely noticeable, but Bilbo, having been tied to him for so long, noticed. The curse was becoming more sporadic the closer they got to the mountain.

“So we’ll have it moved to the vaults at your return.”

“Osa. Men muzmfillunt Arkenstone ogalab. (I will hid it in secret.)”

“Sire?”

“Osa izd know. Men mednu ni secret.”

“Why can’t they know you’re there?”

“It would give us the element of surprise.” Bilbo murmured. Thorin took Frodo from his arms and passed the fauntling to Dwalin.  

“Khadjima mâ darûnîth.” (Give us a moment.) Dwalin nodded and continued on up the mountain. Bilbo could see the crevice they were heading for, but it hardly looked like a door. Ori joined Frodo and Dwalin, leaving Thorin and Bilbo standing still.

He’d clearly missed something.

“Zu otanak, Bilbo.” Thorin said quietly, his eyes down and voice heavy. He took the hobbit’s hands and brought them to his lips, but that didn’t make what he’d just said make any more sense.

“I don’t have to go? We’re chained, silly.” His brow furrowed with the confusion he felt. He couldn’t stop it from showing. “Where else would I go?”

“Udugh sudur, Mizim. (It is dangerous, Mizim)”

And that was the key. Thorin dropped his hands and stepped back. The chain swung in the space between them and it felt so remarkably symbolic that it actually hurt a little. Their situation kept coming between them. It was nothing but a horrid hinderance.

He’d danced around his… affections, since he’d blatantly kissed Thorin. He hadn’t confessed just what the dwarf meant to him. He hadn’t even realized until he’d watched him die in his dream. He needed to make himself clearer.

Clearer without giving everything up.

“I want to know everything about you.” Bilbo said quietly, his eyes on the stone beneath his dirty feet. “I want to know who you were before this, what your past was like, and what you’re like in your kingdom.” He lifted his head and met Thorin’s gaze, the pale eyes intent on only him despite the nearness of his precious mountain, “I want to know what you look like in your royal regalia. What your favorite activities are. I want to have family dinners with you, share a dance, hold your hand and watch a sunrise without chains.” He swallowed and his hands clenched and unclenched at his side. Thorin studied his face and he wished he understood what his dwarf was looking for.

He grapsed Thorin's hand and tugged the captured limb to his chest. “I’ll go with you, Thorin. I’ve come this far. Why would I stop now?”

He opened his mouth to reply about the dangers they would face, but a finger was placed atop his lips and stopped him from responding. “Dangerous or not, I’ll aid you to any end.” He shrugged and almost voiced his next thought. He knew Frodo would be safe no matter what happened. He was stuck with Thorin until a solution could be found. He would have helped him regardless, but there really wasn’t a choice.

And he would happily die to keep Frodo from harm. If Bauglir was indeed coming to Erebor, then Bilbo would do _anything_ to defeat him.

“Tanak.” Bilbo gave his head a sharp nod and swallowed. He wanted some sort of reassurance, but there woudn't be any. Not yet.

“Right. Let’s go then.”

-[]-[]-[]-

Thorin held the only key to enter the back way. He had bore the key since he was crowned King Under the Mountain. It was one of the four he wore. One to the front gates, one to the treasure room, and one to the King’s vault.

He would need two of the other three before their journey’s end.

The moon’s light lit the way, the only light in the darkness. Bilbo was at his side with Frodo, Dwalin and Ori were behind them. The mountain air was cold in the night and it made him shiver.

He pulled the key and it’s chain from under his tunic. Bilbo eyed it silently, giving away no surprise at its presence. He freed the key and brought it to the hidden keyhole with his unbound hand. Bilbo leaned forward ever so slightly as he twisted the key. The stone slab clicked unlocked, and he pushed it away.

“Erebor.” He tasted the word reverently before stepping forward. Familiar air washed around him and the stone echoed under his feet in a way he had heard hundreds of times. It made the ache in his chest that he had carried since he left his home seem far more potent.

He was home.

“Oh,” Bilbo breathed at his side. His small voice echoed in the cavern as the others filed in after him.  Bilbo’s hand slipped into his and squeezed. He could not get enough of the air.

“We make for the lower levels.” Dwalin huffed as he shut the door behind them. “We have to-”

The air around them rushed up in a loud whoosh. It swirled around, twisting the air and sending them sprawling to the wall as shadow raced passed. Bilbo fell against his chest and a cold unlike anything else he had ever felt. The light was washed away and they wind faded. They were left in dark stillness without breath.

“No,” Bilbo whimpered. He pressed himself up, his hands a solid weight on Thorin’s chest. “No, no, no!”

Reality settled on his shoulders in a weight that was too heavy to bear.

He was a fool. An utter fool! They had been followed, and he had not seen because he had been unwilling to delay his return till sunrise. He had let the evil into his kingdom! He had shown it the way!

“Lukhud!” (light) He belted. He heard Ori squeak in surprise and felt Frodo press in closer. “Now!” Dwalin produced a glowing stone and handed it over.

“Mâ (we) must hurry.” His blasted speech could not decide whether it wanted to be khuzdul or common.

“Take Frodo, please!” Bilbo grabbed the fauntling and hefted him up in the air. He passed him to Ori with wild, frightened eyes. “Keep him safe.”

“Dad-”

“No! Now.”

“Go.” Thorin ordered. Ori grabbed the fauntling more firmly and took a step back. Dwalin jerked towards him before stilling himself. Ori gave him a last look before bolting down the hall towards the upper levels. The dwarf would not fail in his charge.

“Dwalin,” The guard’s eyes snapped to his, and they were frightened. Thorin had never seen his friend obviously frightened. “Go. Nabl Fili.” (Warn Fili) Dwalin nodded his head and left without further objection.

It was just him and Bilbo now.

“Ready?”

“To run? Yes.” He took Thorin’s hand in his own and bolted forward. Thorin ran with him, into the darkness after shadow and wind. They had to reach the treasure room before Bauglir discovered where the King’s vault was, and how to get with in it.

He had been inexcusably reckless.

Bauglir could not be allowed to regain his human form. If he retrieved the stone… The power he could wield did not bear thinking about.

The back entrance had a tunnel that lead straight down to the treasure level. They had only to cross a bridge and they would be upon it.

They made it down the tunnel without incident, but they would not be so lucky on the bridge. A single elf, clothed in golden armor with blond hair and red eyes, he stood at the center of the bridge. He had two blades, and scars in all sorts of symbols littered his body.

He raised the weapons at their approach. Thorin drew his own sword and pushed Bilbo behind himself.

The elf smiled and stepped forward.

Thorin charged with no thought but reaching the treasure room. There was no time to spare. Every second delayed was another moment that the army drew nearer.

The elf met him with blades flashing. He swung his arms as though the swords were only extensions of his own limbs. He moved with the grace gifted his race and met each of Thorin’s thrust with ease.

Thorin parried the blows in return and redoubled his efforts.

He feinted to the left but he swung too widely, his blow glanced off the elf’s shield and the blade came swinging back around. Bilbo, appearing from his side, pushed him back with enough strength to make him stumble, and the blade fell on the hobbit's arm. It tore through his flesh and Bilbo’s cry of pain shook the air. It was all Thorin could hear or see.

Then the berserker rage took his mind, and he was not in control. He thirsted for the elf’s blood, and he would have it. The creature would never move again. He swung with abandon, using the greater length and weight of his sword to his own aid. He hammered at the elf unrelentingly, and the firstborn crumbled under his hard attack. He retreated backwards, but there was no where for him to go. The bridge edge loomed ahead, and he was unaware of it.

Thorin pressed his advantage, and then swept out with his legs. The elf let out a great cry and for a moment, all was still.

Then he fell.

Thorin spun around to face Bilbo who had sunk to his knees. His arm was raised, the chain pulled tight so that it was tugging him and his injured limb forward. He had his hand clenched around the bleeding wound and his face was twisted in a grimace. His eyes were on Thorin, and they were clear despite the pain.

“Sorry, I was a bit slow there.” He gasped out, and Thorin knelt at his side without really realizing he was moving. His hands traveled to the injury, studying it with a pounding heart. It was a clean cut, but it was deep. It needed to be tended to, soon.

“Osa, Mizim.”

“What does that mean? You keep saying it.” He panted out as Thorin lowered the arm. He pulled his tunic up and ripped a long strip from it. He ignored Bilbo’s wince. His fabric was hardly worth anything in comparison to Bilbo’s blood. He wrapped it around the wound with hands that shook from adrenaline and fear. He hadn’t expected Bilbo. How had he failed to calculate him into the fight?

“You’re not going to tell, are you?”

“Osa. Not now.” Bilbo closed his eyes as he wrapped more of the fabric around. “Later.” He hadn't meant to use the endearment. He was hardly the type to use such things, but the hobbit drew it out. Now he was bleeding badly and it was entirely his fault.

“I’ll wait then.” He lowered his forehead and inhaled loudly through his nose. Thorin tied the cloth off and lifted Bilbo’s chin. The hobbit swallowed thickly as he searched his eyes and offered him a weak smile.

Thorin’s breath left. The green eyes were astounding, as always, but that wasn’t what shocked him. It was the way his heart pounded and his blood tingled at the simple smile. It was _done_. Practical, logical decisions were gone. From now until the end of the earth, Thorin’s heart was claimed.

Bilbo was the one he _loved,_ and the hobbit was bleeding out on the way to confront the darkness that plagued Middle Earth.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what I'm imagining Dushin / Bauglir to look like. Image by Foremnor
> 
>  

“So,” Bilbo panted weakly, “we need in there?”

He was too pale. The blood on his hands and arm stood out in startlingly stark contrast to the white of his skin.

“That is where the vault is.” And the Arkenstone went unsaid. He’d managed to carry Bilbo to the giant doors. They were now propped against it while the hobbit regained his breath.

“Well,” Bilbo sighed and pressed against the stone wall. He winced and closed his eyes as it jarred his arm. “I think this is probably not going to go terribly well. Still, it’s been a lovely ride.” He swallowed thickly and tilted his head back. Thorin watched him and tried not to let the guilt churning in his chest overtake him.

“Men kigh nekhushul.” (I am so sorry) Bilbo shook his head.

“Don’t be. I needed to leave. My life was nothing but one long routine. If I hadn’t had Frodo I would have simply stopped existing. Whatever happens now, I know that Frodo will be safe.”

He rolled his head to the side to look at Thorin. They only had a few minutes before they would have to act. Act and likely die. If Bauglir was truly reforming… There could be only one true course to take. Only one way in which Thorin could guarantee that the dark lord could not regain his body.

It would change everything. They might not recover from it. The dwarven kingdoms would never be the same, and it would be extremely difficult to continue ruling his people.

Not to mention they would likely die before they even set foot in the vault.

“If this is it then I have one thing to say to you, Thorin Oakenshield. And I’m sorry it wasn’t said earlier. I’m quite certain I love you. No matter what happens in the next room, I am glad to have known you.”

It was too much. It was everything and so much more than he could ever earn. He was to blame, and he did not deserve the hobbit’s love. The hobbit who was looking at him with green eyes that spoke of trees and spring, and not rock and winter. He ached.

“You wound me.”

Bilbo’s brow furrowed and he twisted slightly to better look at Thorin. He was growing paler from his wounds. They had to get him to healing soon. “I wound you?”

“Knowing you.” Bilbo made a miserable sound and seemed to collapse in on himself even more. Thorin cursed himself and his weakness.

“Knowing what I have taken you from. Knowing that I have destroyed your life. Knowing what may come to pass.”

“Thorin, that wasn’t… you didn’t-” He put his finger over Bilbo’s lips and watched the hobbit’s eyes widen.

“But to not know you? To have never fallen in your garden?” Thorin shook his head and tried to quiet the pain in his chest. “That is an agony I would never wish to bear.” He raised his hand and, ignoring the blood and grime that coated it, cupped Bilbo’s smooth cheek. “You have my heart as well, Bilbo Baggins.”

It was, perhaps, foolish to confess such things when they were sitting outside of a room that one of the greatest evils in Middle Earth was occupying. An evil they were going to need to attempt to defeat. It would be difficult, and likely would not work. Thorin did not know enough about the creature of shadow to truly make any decision on whether his plan would work.

But Bilbo was smiling at him and the hobbit loved him. Thorin had not earned such a thing, and had cost the hobbit too much to even consider.

For his last moments with this incredible creature, who was not at all simple, he would show his weakness. He pulled his heart’s face closer and pressed a gentle kiss to his cut lips. Bilbo shifted against the wall and wrapped his hand around the dwarf’s braid.

But there was no time to enjoy the revelation or the burst of joy it brought.

“Ready?”

“Sa.” He pushed himself up stiffly, feeling his entire body ache with a chill that seemed to settle in his very bones. He helped Bilbo up and pulled the hobbit nearer than necessary.

Once they were both standing he walked towards the door as silently as possible in his heavy boots. Bilbo padded beside him, utterly silent. The key slipped into the lock for the treasure room with no resistance. He turned his hand slowly, twisting the key in the lock with a quiet ‘click.’ Bilbo pushed the door open and they both waited with bated breath.

Nothing happened.

The room was well lit by torches as always. There was a specific selection of guards assigned to the sole task of keeping the room lit at all times. Thorin found himself immensely grateful for the seemingly pointless tradition. Light was their only real aid. Dushin, the creature from the dark times, would not need light. He was shadow, he could see through the darkness.

The treasure gleamed in the torchlight. It filled the treasure room with a golden light that was soothing to any dwarf, and lovely to any creature in Middle Earth. He had not seen it in months and it would have naturally captured his attention. It should have bewitched Bilbo as well. Visitors were always shocked by the sheer amount of wealth that Erebor had.

Instead, their attention was drawn elsewhere. The cuff around Thorin’s arm grew warm, and kept growing warmer. He dropped his gaze to it, giving his hand a shake to ward off the uncomfortable feeling, and felt his mouth pop open in shock. The links were gone.

He was no longer connected to Bilbo.

“Well,” Bilbo murmured into their gaping silence, “that’s convenient.”

Thorin could not make a reply. His throat was not working and he was not able to think past the thought of why. The cuff was no longer unpleasantly hot, but it wasn’t going anywhere. It was firmly encircled around his wrist. Bilbo was the same. He pulled his arm closer to his chest and turned it around. The place where the chain had joined them was no longer there. It was just a solid cuff.

“Why?” Thorin breathed, staring at the metal in utter loss. Bilbo’s gaze met his and his brow furrowed as his lips pulled down in a frown.

“Common tongue. Why is it common now?”

“I do not know.” Thorin swallowed and firmly pushed away the emotions warring in his chest. He didn’t have time to sort through them, or feel them properly. There was too much danger to be distracted by emotions. He was free now. That was all that really mattered. Bilbo was not bound to him any longer. “Go now. You need-” Bilbo’s hand pressed against his lips before he could say anything else. His eyes were narrowed in annoyance and his mouth was set in a straight line.

“You are on the verge of insulting me and angering me. I am not leaving. Not now.” He kept his hand over Thorin’s mouth. “No argument. We just have to retrieve the stone first.” He moved his hand to Thorin’s neck and tugged the key from the confines of his tunic. “I’ll hold onto this so you can be ready with the sword.” Thorin unclasped the chain and allowed Bilbo to take it. The hobbit slipped the key into his pocket and took a step forward, utterly silent against the stone.

“The vault is behind my grandfather’s statue.” Thorin said quietly as he moved after him. He turned his gaze to stare out at the gold, a strange unease crawling up his spine.

He scanned the golden light for anything strange, and almost gave it up for not when he noticed a shadow at the far end of the room. It floated over the gold as a cloud, or a fog. Utterly dark and unable to be seen through. For a moment it didn’t do anything, then it rolled forward.

Towards Thorin.

Bilbo walked on, unaware of the mass coming towards Thorin. He stared at it for a instinctual moment. He couldn’t move. The shadow was Dushin, and he was almost to the last of the three stones. Thorin could not let him retrieve it, regardless of the cost.

“Shadow,” He mumbled. Bilbo turned his head to look and see what Thorin was talking about. The dwarf watched out of the corner of his eye as the hobbit saw the swirling shadow heading towards them.

He made the decision without really thinking about it. It was surprisingly simple. There were thousands depending on them, and his home would no longer exist if he failed. Bilbo’s life would also end, and that could not be allowed.

Thorin would be a distraction. “Dushin!” He called out, and the shadow moved faster as Bilbo took a step back. Realization dawned on the halfing’s face and he took another step towards the vault.

The shadow lifted onto the walkway, facing him. Thorin’s body recoiled and tensed up at the same time as his blood ran cold. His heart pounded and his breath came in painful pants. The shadowy mass convulsed slowly before shrinking and becoming more compact. It formed a shape, a body.

He watched Bilbo slip into the vault unnoticed. It would all depend on Bilbo now. He could only provide a distraction.  Thorin took a step back, away from the creature and vault, and raised his sword in challenge.

“Have at me, Dushín! Let us see who is truly the King Under the Mountain!”

-[]-[]-[]-

Thorin was losing. Bauglir was merely taunting him. He was toying with Thorin like Sebastian would toy with a bug he found fascinating. He was going to grow bored any moment, and Thorin would die.

Bilbo could not let that happen. He’d made it to the edge of the bridge unnoticed. If he couldn’t get the stone to Thorin, then he would simply have to be rid of it.

“Sanam Dushín!” Bilbo growled out. The shadowy being turned on his heel, his eyes narrowed in annoyance. His dark, whispy face pulled back in shock at the sight of the stone in Bilbo’s hand. Thorin shouted something that he couldn’t understand and Bilbo turned his gaze from the terrible, dark creature as he stepped back. His heel hung off the edge of the bridge and he shot his arm out to the side, over the side. There was nothing below them for a thousand feet. The stone would not survive the fall.

“Cease!”

Bilbo looked at Thorin and steeled his nerves. The dwarf’s hair was hanging about his face in thick locks, bloodied and sweaty. His left arm hugged his chest, holding his wound tight to try and slow any potential bleeding. His sword was bright from reflected torchlight, but it hardly drew any of Bilbo’s attention. He stared at the pale eyes that were trying so desperately to tell him to stop.

“Go back to the shadow from whence you came!” He released the stone, and for an infinitely long second, nothing seemed to move. The stone slipped from his fingers, impossibly bright as it descended through the air. He watched the confusion on each face change to shock, and felt the air slowly leave his lungs.

Bauglir screeched and moved forward, seeming to jolt time back into motion. The stone dropped beyond the bridge. Bauglir’s form disintegrated into shadow and air, and Bilbo stepped forward away from the edge right as the mass slammed into him.

The world became nothing more than a rage of wind. It rushed around Bilbo, pushing him everywhere and confounding all his senses. He couldn’t breath through it, and his ears rang. His chest burned as the air in his lungs joined the wind around him, and his eyes slammed shut against the pain that perforated every inch. A heartbeat later and the ground slipped away from his feet. He rose up and couldn’t tell what was going on. He only knew the wind and the rage everywhere. He forced his eyes open, only to find himself still surrounded by the darkness.

He heard a shout and the darkness thinned. A faint glimmer of light shone through and Bilbo tried to strain towards it.

Then the darkness dissipated and he found himself falling. He collided hard with stone and coughed. His entire body shook with the motion, and his vision flickered in and out. He coughed again, and tasted blood.

-[]-[]-[]-

Thorin couldn’t cut through the whirlwind of shadow. It was terrifying to behold, and made every sense Thorin had cry out for him to flee. His hands were shaking and his legs felt as though they would not continue to hold him for much longer.

The arkenstone was free falling to the bottom of Erebor. It would shatter so that its shards could never be collected and put back together. Even Bauglir, Dushin himself, would not be able to retrieve them all.

A scream pierced the shadow and the entire thing seemed to convulse as Thorin once again pressed forward. His skin was crawling and his heart could not possibly beat any faster. It sounded as though Bilbo was dying.

Another scream sounded, and then the shadow just… dissipated. It shout out into the air in a thousand directions and faded into nothingness. Bilbo remained floating in the air for an impossibly long moment, and then he fell to the stone of the bridge with a crack of bone.

The chill was gone from the air, as was the tense need to flee that had coiled in Thorin’s stomach.

Bilbo wheezed and Thorin was by his side without really knowing how he got there. He pulled Bilbo to his chest and scanned his body. There were no new wounds, just the sword wound he had received on the bridge. Yet, he was far paler than he had been.

“Bilbo, Mizim?” The hobbit blinked at him, trying to regain his vision.

“Take care of Frodo?” Bilbo coughed and shuddered violently. Thorin moved closer and wrapped his arms around the bleeding hobbit as well as he could. He was colder than he should be. Why was he so hurt? The wound was not nearly that severe. “Keep him safe?”

Thorin had no idea what he was saying. His mouth was moving as words poured out but he had no control of them. He was fairly near to sobbing.  A small, trembling, hand was tangling in his locks, the fingers twisting around the strands of hair as Bilbo coughed again. The green eyes disappeared behind lowered eyelids for a moment before looking at Thorin again. He was nearly cross-eyed from the effort of trying to focus on Thorin. “I-” his voice was raspy, hardly more than an exhale. Thorin pulled him closer. “Tell him I love him and I am so proud to have him as a son?”

More words fell unbidden from Thorin’s lips. He couldn’t understand what they meant.

“Thank you,” it was absurd, so absurd. Bilbo had nothing to thank Thorin for, “Thank you for the adventure. I-I would have loved to continue… it.” He shuddered again and the hand dropped from Thorin’s hair to rest limply against his chest.  

“You will not die.” Thorin swore, and he could not understand why the hobbit would. “Help will come.”

“It’s hard to breathe.”

“Then rest on me, Mizim. I will carry you through.”

He gathered the hobbit and stood up. He would not wait for help.


	17. Chapter 17

Dwarves were remarkably slow on the uptake. Or perhaps they simply would not believe anything told to them by anyone that was not a dwarf.

Frodo didn’t know, or really care.

After he’d been dragged away by Ori and Dwalin (traitors!) they’d fled to the upper levels. Dwalin had growled orders out in khuzdul that Ori followed. Frodo had understood only half the orders. Only enough to know they were going to the throne to see Fili.

He hated being carried, and he didn’t want to look like a baby when he met Thorin’s nephew. It was nice to feel protected after whatever the shadow had been, but Frodo was big. He didn’t need to be protected.

Not when Beorn was lumbering after them with a constant growl. No one would take his dog on.

“Give him to me.” Dwalin said again. Ori glared over his shoulder. He was smaller than the warrior dwarf, but he was stubborn.

They were in a grand corridor that Frodo would have loved to have the time to explore. He couldn’t see to the ceiling, the pillars were so tall. They were wider than his entire bedroom had been, and carved with runes that he wanted to read.

He’d get Thorin to teach them to him when this was over.

His throat burned oddly, like it did whenever he thought about his mother. He was too old to cry. It was going to be okay. It had to be okay.

There was some sort of a commotion coming from the hall to their left. Dwalin kept looking over at it, but Ori did not stop running towards the two large doors that were a few yards in front of them. Frodo had a feeling it was the throne room.

Thorin’s throne room. He was about to see it. The dwarf had sent him to sleep several nights weaving tales of Erebor and her splendor. Seeing it was like being in a fairy tale.

One that was being taken over by a nightmare.

He could imagine how grand it would be in daylight. Right now it was sorely missing the light and life. All it’s citizens were away, hiding from the darkness that was following them. He didn’t really know what it was. Only that it was ancient and angry and would probably try and kill them.

It wouldn’t stand a chance against Thorin and his dad. They were incredible fighters.

“The elf.” Dwalin suddenly growled. Ori skidded to an abrupt halt and Frodo jerked in his arms as his body tried to continue forward. Dwalin flanked their side, blocking both Ori and him from whatever was coming. Beorn stood by Dwalin’s side while Sebastian wound his way around Ori’s feet with a declarative hiss.

Then Frodo saw what had stopped them.

It was an elf, not that he’d ever seen one before. He could just tell that the tall, elegant creature was an elf. He had long, silky hair that was blond, almost white. His robes were of some sort of silk, and his dark eyes seemed to reflect starlight. He wore a crown made from a sapling that curled around his head.

“Greetings, Dwalin. I have wondered where you were.” Another elf, a red-headed female with piercing green eyes stood at his side at attention. A guard. The king’s (it had to be royal with a crown, right?) gaze flickered to Ori and scanned him before staring at Frodo. He stared back as well as he could. He remembered the defiant way Thorin always looked and tried to mimic it.

“A halfling? In Erebor?” He turned his head to the she-elf and raised a thin eyebrow. “Odd customs.”

“Perhaps it has something to do with the approaching army.” Her voice was even more musical than his had been. Something deep in Frodo ached to hear more of it.

“Or perhaps it has to do with the return of the king.” He turned his gaze back on Dwalin, his eyes flashing.

“What do you speak of, King Thranduil?”

“Thorin’s returned to the mountain is an ill omen. He has brought great evil with him.” Thranduil said with an odd tilt of his head.

“He will spell the end as we-” The guard cut off abruptly as a terrible chill filled the room. A horrible feeling surged up in Frodo’s gut. It made him forget what happiness was, and despair filled his mind.

It was gone as quickly as it arrived. It left everyone breathless and shivering. Even Dwalin looked shaken. Beorn had sunk to the ground with a whimper. He rose up slowly, trembling but still standing between Frodo and the elves.

“The shadow.” Thranduil breathed at the same time as his guard. They shared a look.

“The stone.” Ori blurted. Dwalin turned to face him and Ori took a step towards the throne room. Dwalin gave an almost imperceptible nod. Ori brushed his hand along Dwalin’s arm and then he was running to the throne room. The guard made to follow them but Beorn stopped her with a snarl that even made Frodo blink in fright.

The guards opened the door for him without hesitation, and then everything got very confusing as the doors shut.

There were dwarves everywhere, shouting orders and running around with weapons and parchments and shields. He couldn’t untangle the jumble of khuzdul and the flashes of the weapon made his skin crawl.

“Where is the prince?” Ori called out. No one responded so he went further into the room.  “Fíli! Where is the prince, we have urgent news!” They looked for what felt like forever. The room was massive, and housed far too many dwarves to look through.

They made their way towards the back, calling for the prince. They had just reached the far wall (with no prince in sight) when a grey-haired dwarf was suddenly standing in front of them. He had the most complicated bundle of plaits that Frodo had ever seen, and he was wearing deep purple under his armor. He had a war hammer and a wild look in his eyes.

“Ori, you’re back!” He made to hug Ori, only realizing after he moved that Frodo was in his arms. Ori stepped back to avoid the contact and shook his head.

“No time, brother. The prince?”

“Behind you.” Another voice, thick with a dwarvish accent, rumbled. Ori spun around and they were face to face with a blonde dwarf. He was well dressed and wearing ornate armor. he had several swords and knives strapped to his body, and his hair was heavily braided.

The dwarf’s eyes scanned Ori and Frodo, pausing on the braid that held his hair away from his eyes. They lighted on the bead Thorin had gifted him, and widened.

“Zu bekne agft Thorin?” (You have seen Thorin?)

“Sa.”

Fíli’s eyes widened in surprise at the khuzdul Frodo used. He tried his best to look dwarvish and not scared.

“Thorin is in the treasure room after the Stone, which I think he retrieved.”

“That dark-”

“Yes. That was Dushín.”

“Where is Dwalin? I must have him dispatched to-” A crash sounded in the outer hall, followed by a bellow that was extremely familiar, and demanding. Frodo had heard it in the early hours of the morning, and three times before a fight. He’d even heard it once when he was dangling off the edge of a mountain cliff.

“Thorin,” He blurted, his voice excited and eager. Ori turned to face the giant doors as Fíli pushed past both of them, followed by an older dwarf, and a younger dwarf with brown hair. They ran to the giant doors and pushed them open as a bright light lit the outer hall.

Frodo’s stomach dropped at what he saw.

-[]-[]-[]-

It was too easy to carry Bilbo. The hobbit weighed less than when they had first met. He had never been overly large, short by even hobbit standards. Thorin had a good foot on him, and dwarves were far burlier than the children of Mahal’s wife.

No. Carrying Bilbo to the upper levels would not have been difficult had Bilbo been at the prime of his health.

He wasn’t.

For the first stairway Bilbo tried to speak, tried to rouse himself. He flopped his head around pointlessly, his mouth opening and closing as garbled noises came from his throat. His eyelids fluttered and he burned with fever.

Thorin had no idea what his hobbit had been stabbed with. He had no doubt that there was some poison coursing through his veins.

Bilbo, the impossible hobbit, would die from it if he couldn’t find help.

When the throne was only a level away Bilbo stopped moving. He laid in Thorin’s arms, barely breathing. Sweat drenched his brown and he shuddered every few steps with pain. The cut that the accursed elf had given him was a violent red and purple. The veins stood out darkly against his skin...

Erebor herself was quiet. Far too quiet. It had been emptied for war. The warriors had been sent to fight, all others would be deep in Erebor’s heart to await. They would fight a final battle there, or celebrate the victory.

Thorin would hand Bilbo to the healers and join them. He could not hold onto his hobbit while his people died.

He made his way up the final stairs towards the throne room. He would find his kin there, and learn the state of his kingdom.

The long path that led to the throne room was otherwise occupied. Two elves stood in front of a familiar dwarf. Dwalin was standing stiffly, his war hammer gripped firmly and ready to swing.

They were arguing.

Thorin found himself in the odd moment of not caring. Bilbo’s hand slid limply from his chest and fell, so slowly, to hang in the air. He was growing warmer from the fever. His eyes stopped fluttering and slipped shut with a painful finality that made something in Thorin’s chest cry out.

He found strength to run towards the creatures of light and magic. He knew the crown that sat on the blond’s head, and he would run towards the only hope for his hobbit. There was little time.

“Thranduil. King of Mirkwood, I seek thy aid!” Dwalin’s head snapped towards him as his thundering footsteps echoed through the hall. He didn’t stop until he was beside his guard and friend.

The elves looked at him in surprise. Thranduil had a guard as well. A female or unknown age (all elves looked the same age) with red hair and green eyes. “I seek aid for the halfling who has fought against shadow and wind.”

Thranduil’s pale gaze dropped to Bilbo with disinterest.

“Why should I aid you? You who would not greet me, and would send one of lesser value to pay court to me?”

Thorin stared at the elf in shock. They had no time to waste. “Because he has sacrificed himself to defeat Bauglir. Because this is my Kingdom, and I order it so.”

He let the rage fill his chest. It would not last, but for the moment it was a shield for his heart against the impending pain. Bilbo would be lost to the fever if they didn’t move. He had to see Fili and learn the state of his kingdom. The attacking army would be weakened without Bauglir, but they would still have enough to do damage. He had no idea how they would attack. He was not even certain what the army was made of.

“It is morgal magic,” the ginger gasped. Her eyes flashed with alarm and darted to the elf king. He raised a single, thin eyebrow that made it quite clear he saw no reason for that to move him.

“While you are in my kingdom you will do as I ask!” Thorin bellowed as Bilbo hung utterly limp in his arms. He lowered the hobbit to the ground as gently as he could and brushed his curls away from his bruised face.

“The halfling is hardly important at such a time-”

Thorin stood and stepped over Bilbo without real thought. He knew only the rage bubbling in his stomach. Rage that this elf would dare to tell him what was important. That this elf would dare with hold the only thing Thorin would ever ask.

His fist was flying at the stomach of the firstborn before he thought better of it.  He managed to catch himself at the last moment, the same moment that the guard moved to kneel in front of her Bilbo.

Light filled the room as the doors to the throne room burst open. It was not coming from the elf.


	18. Chapter 18

Bilbo rolled his head and felt nothing but cool cotton against his cheek. Something soft was draped over his skin, and there was something brushing over his forehead and through his curls in soothing strokes. He gradually became aware of voice, murmuring all around him, and something holding his left hand. He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying.

It didn’t occur to him until several seconds after he noticed the murmurs that he should probably be interested in what they were saying. Everything was still kind of fuzzy, or fluffy. He didn’t want to open his eyes, and he wasn’t quite certain he remembered how to.

“I will not release the orc filth until Bilbo is awake.” A deeply familiar voice rumbled near Bilbo’s ear. It made the knot of anxiety that had been building in his spine dissipate.

“Thorin,” an unfamiliar voice grumbled, “be reasonable.”

“The elf king still has his head. I have been reasonable. Ask nothing more, wizard. You were late in your arrival, and it is only that you have healed Bilbo of that terrible pallor that you are not in prison with the elf.” The hand holding his switched his hold around so that it could rub at the back of Bilbo’s hand with a large thumb. His lips twitched up and he noticed the presence of a bruise on the right side of his face for the first time. “You can ask no more of me until Bilbo is awake, Gandalf. I will charge him with the highest offence I can if the hobbit dies.”

The meaning behind the words, and the subtle fear in Thorin’s tone finally managed to penetrate Bilbo’s sore head. He inhaled sharply and the extra oxygen made his head feel marginally clearer. The hand holding his tightened its grip and Bilbo forced his eyes open. Pale blue eyes peered down at him from behind a mop of dark, dirty hair.

“Thorin?” He tried to say, but it came out more of ‘Thone?’

“Bilbo! Mahal hurumab khama vusthi!” (Praise Aule for he heals!) A hand cupped his cheek and Thorin’s head came down to rest against his. He let his eyes slip close again and squeezed the hand holding his. It was a second outside of time and pain. Perfect in its simplicity and peace. Bilbo wanted for nothing and felt content to be near to his king and love. There were no other real memories yet. Just the last few seconds before he’d been enveloped by the dark fever. He remembered the terror on the dwarf’s face as he was lifted into the air.

“Men zatazâyung zu. (I cherish you.)” Thorin whispered against him, and Bilbo was helpless to do anything but smile.

“Still don’t know what that means, Thorin.” It was much easier to talk now. He swallowed and felt Thorin huff out a breath that might have been meant to be a laugh.

For a moment it was perfectly serene, then other voices rose up into the air. A higher, young voice caught his attention.

“Frodo?”

Thorin pulled back with an apologetic look and released his cheek. The bed sunk on his right side then a happy, uninjured, young, face filled his vision.

“Da!” He squeaked out, and then hands were around Bilbo’s neck and he was being hugged with nearly violent enthusiasm. He coughed in surprise and couldn’t hide a wince as he was jostled. The fauntling rambled off in an excited voice, unaware that he’d caused Bilbo any pain. Thorin quietly corrected his hold so that he wasn’t harming Bilbo and took Bilbo’s hand back up.

“Calm down, lad,” the gruff voice he didn’t know said, “he’s not going anywhere.”

“Leave him be, Gandalf.” Thorin growled. Frodo released his neck and sat back, beaming down at him.

“What happened?”

“You were poisoned.”

“He meant after.” Thorin growled again. A tall, grey-haired man in grey robes and a silver scarf peered down at him. “You defeated the shadow with your brilliance.” Thorin said with a brush of a hand against his cheek.

“And the-”

“The army ran away!” Frodo exclaimed. “I met Fili, and Kili, and the elf king is in prison!”

“Bauglir was diminished with the loss of the stone. The army-whatever they were-disbanded and fled. We gave them chase and destroyed as many as we could.”

“So… we won?” It was hard to think of, victory. They’d been fighting for so long. They weren’t bound and Thorin wasn’t stuck in khuzdul.

“Without the Arkenstone Bauglir will not be able to regain a solid form. He will remain in the nether realm without shape or substance. As long as that remains we are safe.” The elderly man, who had to be 'Gandalf' stated. He leaned  heavily against the bedpost.

Bilbo frowned as he considered that. “Then he isn’t truly destroyed.”

“No, not truly.”

“He will not trouble us again in this lifetime.” Thorin stated with a glare at Gandalf. “You can go to Thranduil now, wizard.” he turned his gaze back to Bilbo and the affection in his eyes made something sharp lodge under Bilbo’s heart that was tender and fierce. “All you have to do is heal, Mizim.”

Bilbo pressed his head back against the pillow and felt his body relax. He’d focus on everything that had happened later. Right now rest was calling, and Bilbo was going to answer.

-[]-[]-[]-

Kili watched as his Uncle laughed at whatever the hobbit was saying. He was nice enough looking. A curly headed hobbit with green eyes and a large smile that was always near when Thorin was talking.

He had never seen his uncle smile so much.

It was odd to see smiling after what had happened. He still woke up in the middle of the night remembering the fear that the darkness had brought. That and the terrible weight of pretending to be his uncle.

He was glad beyond words to have the true king back. Now that his hobbit was well, he would be fully back in the court.

“Relax, brother mine” Fili said cheerfully as he pushed a goblet of ale towards Kili. His eyes sparkled with merriment. He’d had a few drinks already. “You don’t have to worry about anything. The crown is no longer yours. Tonight is for laughter and cheer.”

“Which you seem to already be well acquainted with.” Kili pointed out with a smile. He lifted his cup up and tilted it towards Fili. “To your continued cheer.” He took a long swig and tried to control the unease in his gut.

It had been too simple. Surely it hadn’t really ended up so happily.

Fili was talking to Frodo again, and laughing with the same joyous abandon that Thorin had. Perhaps it was a magic with Hobbits. Maybe they had the ability to make dwarves laugh.

“You seem to have retained the sullenness you portrayed as king, Prince.” The voice was light, and utterly unexpected. Kili set his goblet down to hard and very nearly sloshed some of it out. He brought his other hand to his lap to steel himself, and turned his head to look at the new comer.

“Tauriel,” he said with a polite incline of his head. The elf guard looked at him with piercing green eyes that studied him with intent. It was probably meant to be unnerving, but Kili had spent his life being studied by one person or another. He turned his gaze back to his plate. “I did not expect to see you again. Is the feast to your liking?”

“I could do with a few more vegetables, but it quite pleasing.” She inclined her head gracefully. “I thank you for allowing me and my kin to attend.”

“It seemed necessary to avoid war after my uncle threw your king in prison.” His eyes landed on his still smiling uncle and soon to be consort. He wondered if his uncle had asked for the hobbit’s hand yet. “He has a temper.”

“Which you mimicked well.” She lifted her glass to her lips with a smile. “Yes, it was quite an interesting month. I should think his majesty, Thranduil, will be quite eager to enter trade agreements. You are to be our primary contact, correct?”

He hadn’t heard about that. “If that is what the court decides, I shall happily do so.”

“Come,” Tauriel said with that mysterious smile that made her eyes seem more green, “enough with fine words. We have won against ancient shadow. Let us enjoy the night.” Her eyes danced with starlight and Kili found himself relaxing despite her pointed ears. “It’s not every night I can enjoy being correct on imposters, anyway.” She winked and took another sip of her draught.

“What gave me away?” Tauriel’s smile was mischievous and Kili found himself enjoying the idea of seeing it more often.

“It was your smile.”

The smile lifted his lips in a quick quirk. "You know, it was your fault we had to pretend."

"Indeed?"

"Yes, though if you ask anyone else, it was my uncle you met with. If Thranduil hadn't I was king, we would have politely informed him that our king was late on a business trip. As was, we could hardly afford ill will."

Tauriel looked back out at the feast. "All will be forgiven in time. It was unforgivable of Thranduil to deny the halfing aid merely because he was insulted." 

Kili smiled against his goblet. "Well, it will make trade agreements more interesting from here on out."

Tauriel smiled as well. "It will at that." She held her glass towards him. "To the future, whatever it brings."

His uncle's laugh rang through the hall as he clinked his goblet against hers. It looked like the future would bring a wedding first, and Kili was happy with that. He could hear Fili laughing at his side, and smiles were to be seen on almost every face.

Yes. He was quite happy. As fabulous as he had looked in a crown, he was happy to just be a prince.

-[]-[]-[]-

The evening was promising to be a beautiful one. There was no sign of the darkness that had plagued the kingdom in his absence. The only sign of that evil was the band on his right wrist.

The enemy had planned their moves well. He was one of the only two in Middle Earth with a key to the vault. He was one of the only that knew the khuzdul to open the vault.

Capturing him would have nearly secured their victory. If they had not underestimated him and he had not stumbled upon a hole in the ground.

He still could not remember destroying the fell beast, or falling in Bilbo’s garden. He wondered if he would ever recall those dark nights.

Fili had done well in his absence. His nephew had gathered he dwarves together and made the kingdom ready to be defended. He had done Erebor proud. He would make a fine king when his time came. Though, he would rule over a changed kingdom. Thorin wasn’t certain what the future would be like without the Arkenstone. The feast had gone well enough, and the atmosphere had been light with laughter. The destroyed stone had not been mentioned. He had hope, however fragile it was, for their future.

The echo of hobbit feet sounded behind him, and Thorin found the tension in his spine easing at the sound of the familiar footfalls. It was wondrous to know that his hobbit was well.

“I am never wearing that vest again.” Bilbo declared to the world with a toss of his head and twitch of his nose. Thorin watched him with a slow smile and soft ache. It was a constant thing, the ache. He loved the hobbit as dearly as he loved his own heart.

It hardly seemed real. That Bilbo should be alive and unharmed.

Even teasing.

“It is a great loss. The color was quite becoming, Mizim. The fabric was also of admirable strength.” He looked back out at the expense of his kingdom that spread out below the balcony attached to Bilbo’s quarters.

“Though we hardly got a chance to test it.” Bilbo teased with a smirk that made a warmth tingle through Thorin’s chest. “I’m curious how it would have held up to dwarven strength.”

Thorin laughed, and the sound of it surprised him. He had not freely laughed in a long while.

Bilbo reached his side and brought his hand to the braid that hung beside his left ear. He stiffened his back and fought for the control he always held. He would not betray the meaning of the braid. Bilbo’s fingers trailed up the braid (that would only ever be meant for him) and traced the runes written into his crown.

“It becomes you, my king.”

The words seemed to act as a barrier. Bilbo’s hand dropped to his side and he rocked back on his feet.

“What will you do now?” Thorin asked slowly as he twisted his body back to look over the edge. He kept his eyes on the statue of his great grandfather.  He was standing perfectly straight with his hands clasped behind his back. He felt rather like a statue.

“Well, it’s a bit a tricky. You see, I live near the village of Bree.”

Thorin managed to stand even straighter. It made his back hurt and oh, how that pain was welcome. It was a brief reprise from the looming pain of loss. “Yes. A lovely hobbit hole.”

“Quite. Though I don’t know what I will do. You see, it’s recently come to my attention that it takes a rather long, and ridiculous, amount of time to reach Erebor.” Thorin’s head turned towards Bilbo the slightest bit before he caught himself and resumed his steely stare at the statue. “I’m not sure it would be a good idea to be so far away from my heart.” Thorin turned slowly, his face no doubt lighting up like a dwarflings on yule. “Besides. I can’t stand the idea of making _that_ journey again.”

Thorin reached out, needing so desperately to touch, and went for his hobbit’s left hand. It was already occupied by a familiar object. Bilbo looked down at it and smiled.

“You know,” he murmured softly, almost hesitantly, “my mother always said love was never really found.” He ran his fingers along the edge of the children’s book that had been their primary source of communication as he spoke. Thorin had thought it was destroyed. It made the ache in his chest all the more keen to see it unharmed. “It’s built.” The hobbit swallowed thickly and Thorin could not stop his mind from recalling all the beautiful promises Bilbo had given him.

Bilbo had been unerringly brave. It was his turn.

“Zatazirikh.” He said slowly. Bilbo raised in brow and the corners of his lips dipped down in mild confusion.

“I’m sorry?”

“The braid,” Bilbo’s hand reached out to touch the complicated weaved hair. “It is a braid of Zatazirikh. Claiming.”

“Claiming?” His voice was faint. Thorin grasped the hand stroking his hair and held it fast.

“Claiming. It states that my heart is taken.”

“Like a marriage braid?” Thorin shook his head and the faint glow that Bilbo’s eyes had held faded.

“No, I had not dared to hope for such things. I feared that I would have to say goodbye to you this very day.”

“Thorin,” Bilbo breathed, his eyes going wide. He dropped the book and hit at Thorin’s chest with the newly freed hand. “You oaf! You were not going to tell me?”

“I did not want to trap you. I would let all others know that my heart had already been taken, but I would not force you to-”

“I’ll say it again. You _oaf_. I wouldn’t have left. I couldn’t have without trying, hoping you would keep me.”

Thorin stepped closer to Bilbo and caught his cheek. His fingers tangled through the locks and he marveled at how soft they were to touch when clean. “I would keep you, Mizim. Will you be mine?”

“Yes. You should have been kissing me ages ago.”

“Allow me to make up for so grievous a mistake.” He leaned down as Bilbo laughed, and tasted the music of his joy.

He was content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all folks! I hope you enjoyed it :)


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